This Inventory Is a Lie

I borrowed a list of resentments
from a stranger

on a train. I’m not even pissed
at you for dying. Maybe later.

I was once—angry—when
you accused me
of starving

myself. But even that rocking
is an empty dinghy

beneath the old drawbridge—
no sail, no wind.

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2 thoughts on “This Inventory Is a Lie

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