“I said I’d never write another poem about you,
but everything is a metaphor for the way that we left each other.
Birds flying south for the winter. Rivers running to the sea.
The moon stuck struggling in its orbit
and never really going anywhere
at all.”
More from Trista Mateer
“I have a postcard mouth. All it ever says is: wish you were here.”
“accepting this body did not mean convincing myself that it was beautiful”
“here’s to being your own therapist and still needing a therapist, here’s to the stories…”
“See what time and distance does to us? How it makes us soft and forgetful?”