Moving On

Moving On

Half my life

is the number of years

you’ve drifted in and out

of my memory—

those first few

the ones that solidified

and became a chamber for the rest,

the ones that wouldn’t contain you

or frame you in the doorway

which is how I remember

every moment.

The distance was so short

between my seat

and where you stood,

and the necessary task that linked our days

so quickly accomplished that

there was barely enough time

to speak in complete sentences

and so your smile must be

the key to why I’ve loved you

this long, for no reason at all

except that each time I pulled away

or moved on, there you were

right there with me.



DeMaris Gaunt


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