January 8, 2012

I could not find my Ativan,

the noon dose. 

I keep it on my car keys so I can find it

but I couldn’t find it

even though I had a clear memory

of dropping the keys on my pants

before I went to bed. 

But that memory,

as clear as it was,

proved false,

or at the very lease superseded,

or old, or useless,

and I was again climbing the stairs

looking for the stock bottle,

again taking the Noon dose with Root Beer

with a sense that something

important had come apart. 

This is when they start fluttering. 

This is when the migration started,

when it finally broke loose.