RogueAgent

After the lost year & the year I spent
looking for work, bad job after bad job

ending, nights gone to panic
& cigarettes, all the phone calls

to the crisis line, my 4 a.m.s
spent sitting cross-legged

in the dirt outside my apartment,
watching the moon / waiting

for morning & the old man
delivering papers in a blue Toyota,

its busted muffler soundtracking
the arrival of dawn. O the nights

I half-slept, hips digging into
the springs of the couch, tv murmuring

& the lights left on, just needing
to not be alone in my head.

After the drunk driving (so stupid)
& the drunk not-boyfriend (also stupid)

& all that cocaine I never
even liked, but snorted politely,

& the uncounted days
I won't talk about. After the morning

I sat in front of Temple Beth Israel
and wept, not knowing

where I belonged,
where I could ever belong.

I thought for sure that something would happen.
Nothing happened.

I kept living. Again & again
I wrote this poem, trying to convince myself

I love even this dim list
of hurts & embarrassments,

to believe this love will mend
whatever I find that needs mending.

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