what’s the word for hearing your wife sob in the shower?
for noticing at dinner that her mascara left a stain
on the skin of your arm, like a magnified amoeba
trapped in ink, from where you held her and felt
as comforting as a stone chiseled into a question mark?
what’s the word for having nothing to say?
for feeling as useless as a dictionary
in the teeth of a bear, wanting only to hibernate
until this season of nothing ends,
and a season of something begins, a season of dreams?
what’s the word for knowing you are going to die?
for hearing the music of an ice cream truck
and suddenly being encumbered with the weight
of thirty-five years, each year adding exponential pounds
to the mass of your heart, until you can’t breathe
waiting for that music to end?
what’s the word for running out of time?
Jay Sizemore flunked out of college and has since sold his soul to corporate America. He still sings in the shower. Sometimes, he writes things down. His work has appeared online and in print with magazines such as Prick of the Spindle, DASH, Menacing Hedge, and Still: The Journal, and he is a Poetry Editor for Mojave River Press and Review. He's never won any awards. Currently, he lives in Nashville, TN, home of the death of modern music.