six-thirty in the morning,
i am awake
again
after
such a
familiar
dream.
he’s leaving.
new twist,
someone
familiar
is coming
over.
it’s awkward.
i don’t
love
him;
i don’t
love
anyone
but him.
new twist,
we are
staying
in that
house.
a fence separates us.
my dog is
alive
and his
leg
is broken.
no one notices.
i am awake
again
so i
am doing
some
laundry.
he’s sleeping next to me.
when people
have been
abandoned.
they
begin
to expect
abandonment.
it never comes.
it becomes
uncomfortable.
the anxiety,
the waiting.
i’m awake
in the morning
curled up
like a child.
disoriented.