making a
space in myself.
not a whole
room but a portion
that’s
ready. a place I can go
to rest or
remember no matter
where I find
my body went.
a stillness
that could hold something
if something
came along
that I wanted
to hold.
I could fill
it now with wine
or magazine
articles I read once
that told me
how to be some other way.
and I know one
or another of my worries
would
happily pay the rent
even
month-to-month
but I think
I’ll wait.
f'real!
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