A girlfriend is a hide-out, a guaranteed
front row at the hanging, complete
with pocket tissues. A girlfriend is a
bridge, but a bridge is a prostitute, a body
in the arch of a doorway, an arced
voyage, the noplace outlaw pass through
on the way to someplace else.
You left your holster on the floor when
you walked out, or was it your belt, your
coiled pant-legs, a rattlesnake around
the question of when we will talk again.
–Sarah Messer
Leaver
I’m a leaver of things.
Leaving keys at parties
And shoes with lovers.
Leaving memories in the
basement
And promises in my other
pants.
Taking your name, placing
it into
A box and leaving it somewhere
I can forget about for a
couple hours.
Leaving my credit cards
in bars,
my friends at doctors
offices
and most feelings unsaid.
Peeling away each piece of
life and
Leaving them to drift
like rubbish
In the open ocean. And Leaving
the
Lights on, just in case
one of the
Things I left decides to return.
