in memory of mania

when i was seven my world ended for the first time
and i swore it would never begin again

in the suburbs of northern michigan:
purple nail polish spilled on the carpet –
a raffi cd pulled and dusted from the basement –
chalk hopscotch on the pavement –
a puzzle that i could look at but not play with –
memories of a broken window

my world has ended a thousand times since:
the last banana at the grocery store –
the job i should have gotten but “wasn’t right for” –
a lost key on the way out the door –
the girl i should have gotten but “wasn’t right for” –
another broken window

every time my world ends it ends with
promises that are not meant to be kept