Superhighway

Moments come and go
when I wonder how I
could just keep passing
each day with such
a massive, gaping hole in
the middle of my life.
That hole remains in
the wake of the death of a bond
meant to last through
thick and thin. A bond
which didn't make it
through thin once.
Thinness which never left and
never fattened up any.
Sometimes our marriage
strikes me as if it was a
superhighway, steamrolled right
through the wilderness.
I'm still cowering beside
a ditch near a slough somewhere
between Seattle and just about
anywhere to the north.
Folks tell me I should
"just let go" of all the strong
feelings I still have and I
delicately attempt to explain
that's like telling a POW
to just forget years of solitary
confinement. I have sold off
all of my bitterness, but that
doesn't keep me from
waking up with a jolt
sometimes and reaching
for you in the dark,
doesn't keep me from
remembering by way of
lonesome gropes in the dark
how we could have been,
how we never were but
how I dreamed we might be.
I think I'm going to have to
hitch a ride soon; standing
here like a freak by the side
of the highway that was
our relationship, well, it's
just got to stop. When I do
catch a lift finally I won't be
getting over you, though;
that would be hoping for
the death of a piece of
my soul.

(2007)