when you were introduced to me,
I remembered who you were
nostalgically
tucked in a corner of every room
of every home
in every state

in jars and tin cans,
in white papers
or brown leaves,
under couches
or behind drawers

you followed her
through my door
to fill and fog
my space, I remember
our first taste,
first cringe
and lung glitch,
every stitch
we unraveled,
the first abyss
we traveled

we opted you stay
after the soul quake
as the only one
who could relate
to the harbored
dismay and aches;
you’d keep
destruction at bay

reconstructing
my perception
and my character
whenever I faltered,
you’d be there
to counter;
I could breathe
for another day

but now,
the air is dense
and I can’t make sense
of my own pretenses
or my own absences

with you here
stifling
the untouchable
parts of me

the parts of me
I need

– B. Brown

(Artist:Jackson Pollock (American, Cody, Wyoming 1912–1956 East Hampton, New York) Date:ca. 1938–41)