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Adrienne Veronese

The Ceiling Stares Back (but never answers)

& so the question
comes down to
whether to
stay or go
after all.
although not even
the most prescient
among us thought to
ask the ceiling this:


          what cost does any kind
          of future come to?
          is this the day
          i grow the tiniest death
          within these walls
          hoping for a dirge
          to bring me out
          of this fatal ounce of living?


          how distanced must i become
          a poet growing smaller
          with each language forgotten
          - including the language of touch?


(i regret that i have
but one death
to choose)


& even though there is little chance
of remembering much more
than i could write
in any single space
i still distract myself
by calling memories
on
the        
phone
in the middle of the night


to remind me
of when i was never young
& so
naturally
less alone
than i am
now.


(there is never any answer)

©Adrienne Veronese

from Poems Behind the Mask: 40 Quarantine Poems From Humboldt County

Photo by Adam Nieścioruk on Unsplash

 

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