There are too many bridges to burn to get to you
it’s not the wise thing to do
I heard ripping and unripping
that whisper scream you only find in dreams
take me back there
take me back to the bridge
no cells left that remember the way
before now
Only statues make me feel seen
there’s an angle, a spot to stand
where they can see me
I stay in the memory, the summer holiday of grief
where I can see where the light is coming from
well into the evening
still standing where statues
can see me
until the suitcase that I drag around becomes a folded piece of paper in my pocket