Summer 2015: This May Be The Last Time.

by Marissa Bell Toffoli.

 

Give me the ordinary, give me a full story.
Someone diagram for me the moment after
the moment, sentence and sentiment.

Details already slip like sand through my fingers.
Slide a stray wisp of hair off my face.
Thank you. We forget we need
to read between lines.

There’s an invisible rope bridge
across a ravine. You believe in it
or you don’t.

The problem is in absolutes–
unbending, unforgiving.
All buttoned up, nowhere to go.

Perhaps wanting gives me away.
This may be the last time every time.
We forget to rely on each other;
say too much or not enough.

I want to hear what other people whisper
to the darkness on the cusp of sleep.

Give me the ordinary
and I’ll show how it would wither
without you. I’ve taken up with the idea
of displacement. Undo those buttons.

Give me a full story.
Step out onto the bridge.
To perfect the balancing the act,
pretend your arms are wings.

 

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