the un-let go

I’m waiting for the big wail to come.  I can feel it sitting in my throat, hunkered down like a cat on its favorite cupboard. But there’s no moving it to my heart and eyes and voice.  Hours and hours now. A contented, half-swallowed cherry.

Should I watch a sad movie for you?  Do push-ups? Or eat something rotten?

I’m going to bed now but I’ll leave the door open a little.  Or at least the key under the mat.

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