tears my companions.

you are a poet?

yes.

do you have a poem i can read?

yes.

(i gave him bloodlust).

i am going to keep this, will you sign it for me.

yes.

let me buy you a coffee.

i'm okay.

we can have coffee and a conversation.

maybe tomorrow.

i'm here after ten.

yes. tomorrow.

light and sweet.

yes.

me, that is.

i laughed and drove away, to cry.

today ten o'clock came and i could not subject this kind stranger to my grief. i could not drown him in tears. so i drove to the gym, nearly blind. when will i have the courage to face a stranger. to let a stranger close to me again? those near me are only the ones who can touch me without breaking me. who can hear me without collapsing or demanding i pull myself together. those who can stand guard over the shadow of a woman who used to be me and who is not certain who she is anymore.

last night was a curious read, only myself and my dear friend were there to read, so i got to read an impromptu ten minute set. not the set i would have chosen had i known i would have time to read. but i did it. it went well. and i got home early.

i recited a poem to a man in the library (other than the man above), yesterday, and he blushed. it's a very sensual poem. and said,

i'll have to get that for my girlfriend.

yes. it will be in paterson literary review this summer

i said. and left.

i seem to withdraw into my containers these days. the places where i can let myself fall apart and be contained. i am going places i used to know, places that know me. sitting in chairs familiar around a few trusted souls who can abide with me during this time.

but today, i sit alone. and cry.