Conversations with the Sidewalk

for 2016, may she rest easy
——————————————-

My days blend into years between the Then and
Now. I thought by this time I’d have found
where the seam
                         ripped.

I coexist with clarity, though we’ve never shaken hands.
Every equinox waves further from the point of origin
where I still swear
time
       collapsed
.
.
.

Let the record state:
This woman’s claimed Faith is her conversations with the sidewalk.

Let the record state:
This woman claims the chalk on aforementioned sidewalk is the reason she’s afraid of the color red today.

Let the record state:
The sidewalk offers sincere apologies for frightening the woman out of speaking again. She’s got it in her head that the cracks create reasonable doubt that she will ever find something concrete to believe in
                                  and we hate to agree but
.
.
.
It seems possible it’s all in my head, though
                                                                     what isn’t?

My memories keep meddling as a means of keeping me honest.
If I drift too far from my failures, I might forget how it felt
                                                                                         to fall despondent.