On the Evening Before the Inauguration of the 45th President of the United States
The cold has sat on my face - holed up
in the caves of my sinuses
I sleep - wake
sit with the cat
an endless stream of movies runs by
I feel as though I am waiting for someone to come home
I have strange sentimental thoughts about an ex-boyfriend
and almost text him
but do not - and this proves something
I fall asleep and miss the sunset - it is the night and it is cold outside
the snow from last week melts and turns into mud
I found a patch of rust on the hood of my car this morning
a pock or orange-red amid the green - it is rough to the touch
it is probably spreading - I think about ways to patch it
Are there patches
I noticed that the cat is walking stiffly - that
age is creeping in him
Age is creeping everywhere
I math - I will be 39 in 2020 - the cat will be 17
will possibly not be here - will have turned into glass
On the eve of my 40th birthday will I know where I am
There is a progression of things - I told my class today
write towards the future
because whatever you write will date the second it is done
and the future needs you in ways the present does not
A moment of folding occurs
Tonight the world will go to sleep and I will not set an alarm
at 9:30 in the morning things will occur that I will not see
paths before us will have quietly lessened - and multiplied
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