All of my friends from California call on the same day
and everyone I know has a reason to go back to Boston.
A week ago
I was next to you;
there is no luxury in this
retrospect.
Today, I take two trains an hour to Brooklyn
to hear people read in soft voices
under a disco ball
refracting light
tall ceilings
windows
into water.
Someone says that any place
you can idealize,
you can also resent;
every place you leave
will go on without you.
I wonder about people,
decide it must be true for us,
too.
Tell me again how memory is divided,
how there is always a half
that’s more than half,
how someone always carries more
and for longer.
Sara Chuirazzi is a writer & reader living in New York. She is a lover of diner coffee and a friend to all dogs. You can find her on Twitter @sarazzismiles.