Empty Room

Found on a looseleaf sheet of ruled paper while packing to move.
We're moving down the street next month, my partner and I, lucky dogs.
I'm not sure when I wrote this.
After the 2016 election, I imagine. And probably winter.
Though maybe my last year of grad school.

--

I am a big bunch of mixed-up words
My dad always said life is a series of minor corrections.
My days are full of head-scratching
Too much internet

Sleeping a lot these days
Fatigued
Is it the weather? Politics?

Now I'm writing. My favorite moment.
The room is warm.
I touch my cheek for cool.

The empty room.
Sometimes it's warm, solitude. 
And I get a lot done.
Sometimes it's gruesome, a burn at my chest in forest fire.
​
Loneliness tastes hard at the back of my teeth like a filling.
Metallic and everywhere when it's near,
Swimming a pool of spaghetti

The brimming waves take over the room like static
The sound of gratitude and a stirring heart
I can etch out my truth in loneliness
​
I am a heart of song
The truth is nutty to assemble

I am a heart of song. My dad would have liked this singer. Photo by Ali Morshedlou.