I reread my poetry
then, when the things
that broke me did not;
not till I lost
the one I would call
when things went wrong.

I reread myself
and it is clear
I have missed
having her ear;
having her here
or anywhere.

I reread regret
but I do not dare
rewrite what
I did not do,
what I did not say,
what was never enough
to change that day.

narrative poem written on 03-06-2016 by: on mattkane.com
view image of poem


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