Undone

We don’t talk about it.


For so long, I didn’t know

If what I knew was true,

or if it was just

a bad dream.

You talk about the storm,

The damage,

The man,

and his son.

But it ends there.

And it’s hard to tell

If it’s a comfortable

I forgot the rest silence

Or the awkward

Unspeakable memory silence

I study your face, and

I want to ask,

But I don’t want to

make you remember if you don’t.

It gets lost like

a torch in water,

a fighter in a prison,

a weapon in a war,

a curve in a spiral,

a triangle in a web.

And it’s just like all of that,

just as meaningless because

we are who we are.

And we can’t let him own that.