Apprehension
How can what I know nowthat came as a shock thenfeel like a secret I kept from you?How can my knowing, nowthat I would wake up and youwould not, feel like I amkeeping it from you still?Is it because of time, what happens to timewhen one heart stops and one heartgoes on? Is it because it will always be the night before,and I will always know how it will end?
Admission
You die, and I imaginedoing the things I used to—And I do. Lunch at an outdoor caféwith my husband, unhurried browseat a bookstore . . .
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