Try reading the words on the page as though they were
the life you have forgotten. Clouds move past the sun
and it’s not because I’m still angry, or because I haven’t had a drink.
You probably don’t remember learning how to talk
to a listener who is both you and not you.
Try reading these words as though they were meant to be spoken aloud
room window garden street
baby city morning sun
books coffee toast eggs
Enough of that talk. Imagine a reader you can trust.
Now imagine a writer you can’t trust.
She’d give you something to eat and a cup of tea
listen to everything you had to say,
how awful it is at home, rolling out her pastries,
nodding, murmuring, not writing anything down,
not one word. Who knows what she thinks of you.
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