Poem: Don’t Go
To pots of consolatory stew and the reassuring embraces of those who know them
In victory and failure.
The march is like a metronome,
And no amount of pleading can make it stop
Or falter, even when time ought to pose for a snapshot,
A portrait of when
All was good.
In the midst of all that’s good
You tell me you must go.
You make me understand that you’re not coming back.
You will disappear.
Please don’t go.
My words build and fade, like a flock of finches
In search of the next banquet.