My Answer

closer, now,

let me tell you a secret.

because I know you’ve always wanted

answers

to break

to heal

someone to belong to

to call it one night,

and just drive away.

I know you keep a first aid kit

and a toothbrush

in the glove compartment of your car,

fragments of your escape plan.

but come closer now,

let me tell you a secret,

because I’m pretty sure you think you could disappear,

rename yourself Cassandra at the border

and fade from the memory of this place.

you think if you left home

maybe you’d finally understand it.

maybe you’d finally understand yourself,

because I’m pretty sure you think the harder you look

the faster the fog settles in.

and you think you’ll find the answer in your dreams

or submerged under an icy mountain stream

or standing on a bridge in a city of strangers.

you think you’ll find that answer

that you swear exists, that will make all of this go away.

all of this.

but closer,

let me tell you a secret:

I don’t know that answer either,

but I am here anyway, carrying on.