the first year
this year,
february’s calendar page
goes unmarked, collects dust,
with no dates highlighted and
no request for time off
for any holiday
birthday
anniversary
but as the days pass, the sun
takes longer to set
and, just like wintertime,
your memory lingers
in every evening blush.
the shortest month, it drags
and, for some reason, I
dig my heels into the ground.
now, time
pushes me forward against my will.
sundays are no longer
grocery store days, farmer’s market days,
in-n-out in parking lot, netflix
through bluetooth
on phone
on dashboard
days
it is just the first day, the last day,
the reset, the resume.
businesses close their doors early
and I am asleep before them.
letting go used to be
a children’s game;
the count to ten, still
running out of sight, still
looking for a hiding place,
no moment to catch a breath.
now, it’s
fighting off inevitable sleep,
half-awake on the freeway
in a rideshare,
in a new town,
in an old sweater,
backseat,
capturing glimpses of views
through a tinted window,
wishing I could stop for every
eye-catching reminder of
the life we once shared.
memories fade, even when I resist.
the car keeps driving.
ready or not,
three, two, one.
