Today is a poem that tells too many stories at once, but we are halfway through this month of revelations, both on and off the page.
H o w l o n e l i n e s s c a n b e s o l o u d
sometimes, like the crack of a thumb
knuckle after scrolling too long.
The pulsating behind eyes
after reading too many false promises.
The muffler of an engine screaming
past your bedroom window.
The creaky wood boards beneath a bed
that never felt the warmth of a man.
Loneliness is the echo of your stilettos
at 2 a.m. against the corridor of a man’s
overpriced apartment complex.
It is the grumble of a hunger,
too anchored by heartbreak to eat.
The bustle of browning leaves from the tree
next to your father’s dry grave.