On Different Time Planes


For a week I went to bed

knowing she’d called

forgetting she’d left

her voice in that space

between us.


“I’m calling randomly

not knowing the time difference

ignoring where you are.”


When I was ten you bought me a piano

you played it so well

while what I wanted the most

was an old bicycle

like my brothers’.


Did you know that

the dog you got yourself

dressed up and never fed

became my best friend?


Every night I brushed off

from your broken veins and split ends

burning lies, diamonds, and secrets

that tripped me off in my sleep.


(Sabine Huynh, published in the poetry magazine Cyclamens and Swords)

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