Ghazal for Rumours

I take all 23 bobby pins out of my hair, begin to shave my legs.
The razor tells me that Lindsey is right: I can’t ever go back again.
In the summer I watch a pot over-boil, and somewhere, the chain breaks
for the first time. At 10PM, there is still light, and my voice cracks again.
The windows are open. I can’t stop looking at the same map, thinking about
the tall grass I’ve never seen in person. I’m reminded of what I lack again.
Yes, my heartbeat is driving me mad right now. A friend asks me to think
about something else. Every radio seems to give that lovesick feedback again.
The word “you” becomes its own refrain every night. This is all for you. For you.
I’m afraid to tell you I love you. I love you. I begin to pack and unpack again.
There won’t be a home after the pieces, Lydia, I tell myself. Your arms
are already overflowing. He is still quiet. Maybe it’s time to backtrack again.