opening with sealegs
building suspense
nostalgic and classic
self-aware and reflective.
If I live long enough
to see each act.
I wanted to call mom
But she's dead.
I forgot- so easy to.
I'm in college again
sinking into the sofa
the angular questions
Is it Banter? Between us;
larval people.
barely a personality combined.
We continually reflect
the pieces we stole to each other.
Life moves as a spider, tickling
eight moments at a time.
skipping and tripping
through a life, like the same
role but different actress.
Everything is just shifted
to the right one inch.
I'm six years ago and
new set, new costar,
but my script it the same.
I am in the kitchen baking;
He in the living room video games.
Because I am a mother without
labor, tears, and birth.
Little lives scurry and work
ant colony home, busy but
so small we go no where.
Just us-antennae touch
chirping words into air,
secret codes and language,
It's the general direction,
But never talking.
Decades soar by with jet-speed
Yet I am the same fears, anxieties
Jealousy and ticks.
I am wiggling bee dance,
pop a cookie in my mouth
push down the times before
sink deeper in the couch
Just another edit, version,
production
of a hundred other
times before.
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