She picks up a stone, throws it at her old house and misses the window. The rock bounces off the side of the garage, and she cries silently and starts running down the street. She can’t even do this right. She can never do anything right. Do the new people living inside know? Do they have any idea? Can they feel the unhappiness in their new home still lingering, still lingering, sticking to the walls like yellow from cigarette smoke? Her teachers encourage her poems. They tell her to write what she knows, but she’s not comfortable enough for that, and so she smothers everything that she writes in metaphor until it’s barely there. The fingerprints left on the glass in the frame, the only proof that she saw and touched the thing.
Track Name: AN + TA
If there’s a breeze in here, it’s coming through a broken window. If there’s a tender moment to be had, I missed it while smoking a cigarette. If it’s a new house, it’s built on sand, and if it’s an old wound, the bones were never set right. We met, both still cold to the touch. There were small fires but they did not keep us warm, so we built our own. If there was smoke, we did not see it until the first light of the morning. We tried to keep burning. Draw a figure eight and claim you believe in infinity. Tracing our initials into mud. Tracing AN + TA into mud. If there was a moon tonight, it’s passed beyond the horizon. When we talk about love, do we still keep our fingers crossed? I had a dream you were standing over me. I can't stand to be alone in this apartment.
Track Name: Certainty
Stepping through drying concrete I didn’t see. Kick my boots off against the curb half-heartedly. I know this is sticking to me. The corner where my street meets the main road, at night it’s too dark to see my hand in front of my face. I watch the cars drive by. As loud and bright as shooting stars. There’s comfort in seeing something from a distance off, and knowing at least one wish could come true. The one that conflicts with the one of me being with you. Step into the street. When you find certainty, cling to it. There’s no stone so dense it won’t shift some when the water begins to flow. If I saw that concrete, I could have pressed my handprints in. There’s comfort, though, in leaving nothing behind. When I get home, I am telling you everything.
Track Name: These Cheap Black Dress Shoes
Leave the car running in the cold. Step out of the driver’s seat while that song you loved plays on the radio. Unlock the bolt and count each step I’m taking into your old home. I’m breathing out your name. I see it in the air, ask the darkness if there’s any way you could still be here. But I know. There are hopes and there are ghosts. Can you tell me if it hurts? When you were dying alone, I was out drinking with friends. How many cars on that road just drove by? I schedule my appointments for any time I think I’ll think and think of you. I keep all my prescription pills in a coffee can. I always know where the exits are. I keep a planner with nothing written in it. I still flip through its pages. I’ve stored away some larger bills. I drink from paper cups and stay away from messes I can’t just wipe away. I see it. It’s so clear. Your daughter dancing. Her small feet on top of these cheap black dress shoes.