Someone asked me the other day if I miss New York, and the unspoken comparison of this small town in their mind is all I could hear.
By Kay Husnick8 months ago in Poets
Someone before you thought they knew me, built a picture in their head that my words and actions could never prove wrong.
I notice the unpaid car bill before the date hits me as your birthday. Last year, I made the payment for maybe the fourth month in a row,
The first step is the hardest one foot in front of the other into the darkness, but it could be a key. It could be the first one pressed to the next to the next
Call it a cleansing, the way I donated and discarded the memories of ghosts long gone; they don't need to live in my closet anymore, laid to rest in cardboard caskets
Some moments, I will keep to myself, to us private, hidden, protected, perfect. Others, I will never find the right words to share
Suddenly, the boxes I put in storage a while ago feel less like a long-lost to-do list. They and the empty totes and the set-aside bubble wrap are a step toward the future,
By Kay Husnick9 months ago in Poets
I should be there with you now, not a week from now, not in two or seven months. We plan to look at paint colors, talk about rearranging, making your house our home,
Most days, I'm good. Healed. Safe. Fine, but the memories I've buried aren't that deep, not enough that scrolling to a personal PSA can't dig them up
These burdens weigh me down, steal the air as it bubbles out of my lungs, but I gather them up, from person to person to person
By Kay Husnick10 months ago in Poets
The dishes are piling up again overflowing from the sink across the counter, the stovetop, the consequences of my own inaction,
Wash and cut a lime, split it even into halves Is there a version of me on another timeline wondering what I am doing now?
By Kay Husnick11 months ago in Poets
