No news today, except you. You are my old news, my new news, my groundhog’s day. I still see you in my dreams, a whisp, a shadow. You used to move once--you, a flaccid doll that disintegrated under love.
I wake every morning remembering a mole on your neck. It is not clear what I miss, it has been so long, a phantom pain that lingers. It glides through these corridors, wondering what it is it has lost and for what it now searches. But if I see you again, what will I find? I fear that the yearning in me has existed long before and well after you, a missing leg still desiring to bear the weight of me.
There’s no news in this. But I cannot un-name you, unlink you, and there’s no ability to absorb you anymore. You divide, divide, divide. There’s no news in this.
Jen Michalski is the editor of jmww. She is finishing a novel, and you can find her here: http://jenmichalski.com/
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