Yesterday, I knew how it would end.
Between sips of milk and knotted thumbs,
I thought of it loudly, all day. Today, I can’t seem
to remember much.
Yesterday, I knew that it would smell of
grass and charred wood and
sound like a hose left running
a few houses down.
Yesterday, I knew that when it ended,
the waterfalls would rush backwards
and the clouds would huddle in a corner of the sky
and my sister would nod to herself in the mirror,
blink twice, and love herself.
Yesterday, I knew how it would end
and that just before it did, the world would blush
and quiver. The soil would chuckle
and ask for water and chuckle again
and as the petals bowed, the lights would dim.
Yesterday, I knew how it would end but today,
I know only that it will, only that you will be there
and you will whisper ‘I love you, baby,
I love you enough to watch you go’.