No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
“Mom?” I whispered, not because I’d arranged for a rendezvous with her ghost on the riverbank, but because the word itself, when spoken aloud, alone, could sometimes be a comfort, I'd found, a balm between me and the world, though in real life she’d seldom soothed me. In real life I was the one who'd soothed her...
"Do you travel much?"
"Absolutely, twice a year."
"Care to meet up?"
"Okay. Why not?"
We agreed to meet the next day at a bar that Kathrin suggested. I wasn't particularly interested in her. Still, I wanted to meet. I wasn’t feeling very well. In May, I always fall into a kind of melancholy and am afraid of being forgotten. That has to do with the swifts.
And now, it takes more and more To satiate both of us Who changed? Was it you or me? Still, I don’t know what I would do Without you. How can I face the world? Naked, Unprotected No weapons and no armor Just me. When I have never been enough
We’re not on steady ground all the time, nor should we be.