It’s hard to pull the words
when they’re buried so far down
beneath layers of pain,
rust building on the wheels
spinning directionless
trying to keep you moving
keep you going
keep you on track
keep you on top
- keep you.
So you sleep with Isabel Allende
and Gail Honeyman
and Naomi Alderman –
you tuck the words
of the women
you want to be
deep in your sheets,
hoping they will
keep you going
keep you on track
- keep you.
But each thought
you don’t put to paper
sinks like a stone
deep into the well
of things forgotten,
and you reach the point
where every hurdle
is a lexical gap,
and you can’t
keep going –
You just
can’t.