Alexis Foran
Maybe the place where it all went down is gone now.
Maybe you have healed from the suffering but the couch is still there.
The city is still there.
The couch forgets, the city forgets
The blood will be washed from the sheets,
The streets.
But it still went down.
What memories that have been paved over would spill out of
Cracks in sidewalks, potholes, construction sites breaking ground?
Street sweepers brush away dead debris, I watch it being carried away from me.
How far must we dig? The damp, black sod to cut and burn.
Buildings dismantled, couches discarded, nothing that was there matters now.