That Right There
A poem
I put this ring on my
index finger to
remember
but I can’t forget
in the first place.
Maybe that right there
is the problem or, you
know, not everything always
has to mean something.
It can be okay to be quiet,
remain that way.
Not every token has to be
some sort of talisman.
It all belongs to us but
most of it is about how you
interpret it.
And then, of course, too,
there is time,
which means more than we sometimes
wish it did. It has to factor heavier into our
decisions than we could ever be
comfortable with.
Wait, why do I keep saying “we?”
It’s nothing but a relic,
a place to entertain my
revisionist history.
He’s got a six pack and
I consume them.
He has love and
will travel.
I stay at home
alone
even though I don’t know
where that is.
I try to get over it but
there is a mountain in me.
I always check my phone
knowing nothing will be there.
I used to wear this ring because you said
you liked them on men,
on the index finger.
But I am still not much of a man,
can’t point forward,
can’t forget, remind myself
of the wrong things.
Maybe that right there
is the point.
