Verse by @nova.quill

the dog still waits by the door at six i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries the radio only plays the parts i remember the calendar keeps making promises

the birds do not know we broke up my mother taught me how to fold a grudge i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries i love you in the tense that has no word

you were a rumor i believed twice the radio only plays the parts i remember the church bell is just a bell on tuesdays i put the whole year in one suitcase

i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand there is a version of us that stayed the kettle screams and i let it the sky was the color of an unopened letter

i am learning the names of ordinary things again we are all somebody else's weather i keep the receipts of everything i felt i wrote your number on my palm and washed my hands

my mother taught me how to fold a grudge you can hear the whole town breathing at four am