Memory, Surreal

A Poem by April Salzano

Sometime in the middle of 2012
I go back to 1996 for a full 10
seconds. Standing in front
of the station—Kings Cross or Holborn?
we are saying something
about Fugue Syndrome. We do not
yet have 2 sons, we have not been
claimed by heartbreak and divorce
and therapeutic supports. We haven’t
even been to Paris or Edinburgh,
ridden English on Icelandic mares.
You haven’t dropped the atomic bomb
of your affair. You did not yet
rip me to shreds or suck me into
your bipolar vortex. We are just walking
and talking, and still so in love
with each other it hurts.

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