I am tying myself in knots
turning and looping in slow circles through suburbia
long streets laced with memories and empty houses

I find myself wanting to cry

I turn left then left again and pull up to Marcia's
seeking comfort in the remainder of my childhood
She is a warm voice and a welcome embrace

We talk for an hour about our lives
her son, her worries
our sadness with time and its passing
fingers, eyes, and tails

her face is creased with love and worry
which are different ends of the same stick spinning
I am helpless before her
blind alleys and empty hands

We are learning there is no comfort in love

AcB 11.11.01