Poetry · Writing

Balloon Sanctum

I dwell on goodbyes.

Not for the person leaving, the feeling afterwards.

The two night return on a whim

the loss of a close friend

the birth of a daughter.

The dwelling on the future that is inevitable

on the brink of return

he’ll linger

maybe he sees the same future

the one of two barbecues a year

the wedding of his sister

burying the family dog.

He wants to stay, (he needs to)

the fortune assigned in his cookie

drags him away into an olive life

under a plum bush

deep underground

holding himself.

He’ll leave

but he’ll be back

because no one ever leaves

The Fun House Mirrors.

One thought on “Balloon Sanctum

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