Dear Diary

I had the dream again last night:

Asphalt, glass, blood, crash, flashing lights. Diary, I wish I could close my blurry eyes Without seeing that insidious side of my mind.

Diary, I want to go back to that bright gray day

In Cold Spring Harbor. I wore the black wool sweater

And had iced coffee with my brother inside the spray

Of morning mist and we sipped and called it melancholy weather.

In the dream, I lose him forever, and why would my

Mind do that to me? Diary, do you think I’m getting better?

Aren’t my sentences longer, my voice stronger, my

Memories clearer? We had pancakes, we called it melancholy weather.

Diary, I’m filling up the pages now, your spine’s cracked. You know almost everything—I just wish you’d write back.