To begin a new relationship with an old lover,
is precisely that;
new. How you cannot drink from the same
river. Changing ways. Therapy
and the co-pay. And so on, and so
it goes. But when with an old lover
you go back
to the apartment you have not yet been to.
When the cat makes clear
that you’re a stranger now, hiding
in another room that you do not know
your way around. When you try
to break the silence
that once was never awkward
by looking through the stacks of books,
as if they aren’t the same titles
carried over from before. When you drink
too much. When you get another bottle
to share. When in the morning there is no coffee
from the bodega, no bodega
where they would recognize your smile.
When there are only the other bitter brews
of You can take a shower / The car
is on its way. This too is new, if only
for the houses—have you ever driven by
so many of them? Their every address ripping
from the floorboards of your throat: a this is not
my stop. This is not my stop.