Catch up with myself / Ask what’s been going on / Tell myself I dropped something / It’s a check already deposited / Thank myself anyway / Smack my ear until instruments, chairs, baseball bats fall out of the other / Put money on myself / Sink cheek in the dirt of mother’s grave / Then scrunch nose awake / Scratch the dried spit off the sides of mouth / Bleed out from stomach / Blame it on someone else / Call everyone and tell them I’m sorry / Say it happens / Tell him I’m sick about you / Sit in a tub until it gets cold / hold nose and go underwater / Remember him on the bathroom floor reading / Let his absence be a corkscrew / Push it into bellybutton / Be able to tell my mother I hate her again / Believe in someone's living so much / I can say unforgivable things / Throw a flat screen against a cement wall / not consider the aftermath / Pay the parking ticket / Differentiate between lately and what has always been / Sweep eyes over a line of strangers until they all have the same face / Cradle heart in hand / Ask myself why some things just happen
Shannon Sullivan is a poet from Lakeland, Florida. She has been featured in Lunch Ticket, Yuzu Press, Eunoia Review, and elsewhere. She has a cat named Percy who decorates the apartment with mice. You can find her on socials here: @shannonsullivxn
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