New

I can’t get enough of endings

last phone calls & letters

friends I’ll never converse with again

fixed places in my memory’s strong box

newness never interferes

until white invites me in

expected snow, her scenery soft

green boughs shift

with the weight of her water

a plane’s engine churns overhead

my husband says, “Oh man…”

this pen moves across heavy paper

everything turns.

Sometimes I think

I love endings

because my compressed emotions

fire easily

I’m afraid my future

won’t unfold anything

as juicy as

the hurt felt behind me

Or maybe this is it:

I’d like to be done

with hurt forever.

You know what lasts?

My rubber plant.

I can ignore it for weeks

until suddenly its new starts

are growing into fronds

& I have reason enough

to water her

my gaze steady

& focused

on the now.

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