Packed Away

The emptiness of the morning hangs with gray hindrance-

It speeds up time in its slow austere, like sand in an hourglass.

I won’t let go, the cramped space of a common goal.

I won’t let go, your idle company keeps me awake like a heavy pill.

I’d rather wake in the strangeness of that room than the familiarity that brings morning gloom

I won’t let go.

I find it funny, what will come to a woman in a few short days-

The kinds of things that have plagued her bricked-up mind for nearly two decades.

The life that lives in spacious poverty, one that waltzes with the city.

I won’t let go, the sight of it packed in a box makes me shutter like waiting for a bus in the fog.

I won’t let go, you can’t take it with you when everything you own weighs on you more than love.

There is only so much we can hold in the captured frozen stills of our time, but as for the rest we keep not in boxes, but in the breathing structures of heart and mind

I won’t let go.