archive.
i could scroll through the volumes of my own history forever,
spotting favorite poems dotted like loose pearls in a jewelry drawer.
i often revisit them as i would a childhood vacation home;
arms spread wide, gulping breath after breath of the briny air i so longed for,
half-heartedly trying to quell a heart swelling with emotion
while secretly reveling in the pain.
because there is a pain,
no matter the poem’s subject.
to think at one time i was so blissfully content?
it all loses its luster when you know what’s coming -
when you can see into the future of the past.
or worse.
too often
i peek into yesterday
(3, 6, 12 months)
and dissatisfyingly realize
it’s still my present.
