Then Go

February 26, 2008
By James Bursley, Pittsburgh, PA

Evicted--depicted walking out
into the dirty street
sewage in the gutter and my feet
in shoes that don’t belong to me.
It’s still not your face, it’s you I see.
You holding the fleece blanket with the hole that I tore.
You who can’t know who I am, and what I’m not anymore,
and what I was.
What I was was not who I am or who I ever can be,
because you don’t realize the
tears in my eyes aren’t just
from the gritty smoke
blanketing my face as the cab
pulls away
and I fall into space.
And I can trace with my finger the indent you left in my mind
when I couldn’t drop you
let you fall your own way.
Maybe we’ll drift into each other some other time.
But now I’m spinning so fast
I might not recognize your smile,
so let me float off, in my river of denial.

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