poetry

Some Days

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment

Some days
I give so much of my love away
that I forget to leave any
for myself.

Some days
I give so much of myself away
that I become a walking
human-shaped absence,
defined
only by the space
of where other people are not.

Some days
I have no one to give to
and in that freedom I expand
so far
that I lose
all
cohesiveness.

Some days
I cannot remember who I am
only all of the things I should do
and all of the things I have failed to do.

Some days
I make lists about myself
so that I cannot forget:
what I’ve done,
what I like,
what I want.

Some days
I look at those lists
and wonder
where that person went.

Some days
I am certain
that some crucial part of me
has died
taking with it:
memories
and dreams
and desires
and
and
and

Some days
I want to be struck by lightning —
not to die,
but on the off chance
that I might reanimate.
Or at least
feel that rush of electricity
down my spine.

Some days
I can pretend that I’m okay,
end this on a note about
hope.

Some days
I give so much of my love away
that I forget to leave any
for myself.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Thieves’ Guilt

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment

my love,
we live
in a den full of thieves

each of us
pilfering and pinching,
one from the other,
back and forth
and around again
in a merry-go-round heist

our children
plucking the hours
from our pockets
and the sleep from our beds,
the heat from our meals
and our drinks
and our kisses —

not that it keeps us
from stealing them anyway

after all,
you and I
are just as guilty as they:
every breathing moment
an ill-gotten prize,
an impossible debt
we never intended to pay

our guilt
evidenced
in the tipping of toes
and whispers in the dark,
in quiet tears
and the protests
of little voices

every moment we call
ours
is one taken from
them
every second I claim
mine
means one less for
you

these very words
counted and hoarded,
concealed around a corner
while the authorities
call my name

they are written
with borrowed minutes,
a fleeting currency
that dissolves
before it can ever be
repaid

we live
in a den full of thieves,
my love,

and I fear
taking more
than I’ve
lost

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

A Safe Distance

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment

There is a space between

you and me

that measures
the exact distance
required
for a wild animal
to turn from deadly
to cute.

It is the kind of distance
that plays tricks on the eye —
blurring harsh edges,
leaving only pointillistic impressions
that tickle the most palatable of memories.

It is the size of
scribbles
coalescing into sense,

kitchen knives
mistaken for
wooden spoons.

Ours is the distance of i n e b r i a t i o n.

An astigmatic blur
bloating e’s into o’s
and misjudging lies lines.

The time it would take to travel from

Point “me” to Point “you“

is comparable to
that satisfying span
of autumn and summer
before we begin to pine
for the pleasures of the other.

Or the time
it takes a new mother
to break that promise
she made to herself:

“Never again.”

It is the breadth of forgetfulness,
of longing,
of doubt,

but not of forgiveness.

There is a space between

you and me

and it is not enough.

Reminder.

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment

I’ve forgotten
what it’s like
to just

exist.

To leave
without taking anyone
with me.

To abandon

the photographs,

and mental notes,

and the scripts
of what I’ll tell them all
when I get
home.

My stories are just that —
mine.

They don’t

cease

to exist

just because I didn’t share them.

And if they do,
that’s okay too.

Maybe
they already
accomplished
what they needed to.

Or

maybe
not everything
needs a purpose.

Not every secret
needs to be
told.

Not every thought
needs to be
posted
for critical evaluation.

Solitary moments
that pass
unobserved
by everyone
except
me

still passed.

Time
doesn’t need to be
marked
to elude us.

Moments,
stories,
thoughts,

don’t need
an audience
to have value.

And neither do I.