Gritty Details

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

Tonight's Poet Corner: Discovery Phase

Discovery Phase
by Belinda Roddie

Distant from the truth,
I dredge up the past
between my stained fingers
like spoiled white flour.
This quick heart of mine
beats incessantly, as if
it will make the memories
less inedible. But I still can't
eat them. They will sit
like boulders in my stomach.

This post-fact world
is lopsided, derailed,
shaped like forgotten cargo.
You live in it with me, but
I have difficulty counting
the words shared between us
without a broken abacus.
I forget how to say, I love you,
because I've been told it no longer
means what I want it to mean.

Nearly seven years ago,
while sitting on a red couch,
I exposed everything in my chest
to a professional without a face.
I don't remember her face. Her
eyes were black holes sucking in
every ounce of debris that I
scattered from my shoes. Now
I'm not sure if the insomnia
that once wrapped around me
like hotel sheets was real
or a prolonged fever dream.

Because every star above
my head already died tens
of millions of years ago, and all
light gets separated between
the lips of skyglow. The bed
I sleep on is not made out of
springs, but numbers pulled from
a false god's data bank. And we're all
part of some bullshit simulation,
anyway, so who cares if I say,
I love you, fifty times in one night
to you, since you won't
actually hear it even once?

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