What’s new

I wake up alone, and

it isn’t new, but
it is earth shattering
every time.
The bed is always cold on that side,
cold enough it tries to pull the heat from me.
You’re somewhere far, and

I haven’t been able to reach you.
It isn’t new, but
it is earth shattering
every time.
There’s an echo in the phone line,
the land line I keep —
the land line of yours that I keep.
I had to get a new phone.
I had to get three new phones.
I have stopped crushing them
when they are wrong numbers,
spam callers,
robots asking for me.
The last one I had to replace
because it asked for you.
I thought maybe it meant I was closer.
I thought maybe it meant you were closer.
It’s getting colder now, and

the fire escape has had
the first eyelashes of frost on it,
the chipped paint and

rust shivered with
fractals of ice whispers.
I slept out on it the night before, and

woke a little before dawn,
to climb up to the roof and
lay out on the tiles and

stare up and

up and

up, and

let the tears come.
They aren’t new.
I’ve lost the flow of it, I think, and

I’ll have to start


No tags for this post.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Fiction. Bookmark the permalink.

Go ahead -- say something. Anything.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.