Marking Time

I pull tarot cards and read a poem from this day
Four years ago. Marking time is a habit. Mapping
This life out for the part of me who is scared of forgetting.

Whenever I’m anxious I dream of screaming. I feel
My voice hoarsen as words claw their way out.
My whole body is a scream and no one listens.
I get louder and my throat gets raw and I wake up
Thick tongued.

Four months after this four year old poem,
I met the woman who is now in the next room
On the phone with the bank, while our baby sleeps
On the bed next to me and a pile of unfolded laundry. He stirs,
Sucks his fingers, sighs. My heart outside my body.

I am lonely but full of love. The window behind me
Is drafty and through its gaps I can hear the rain and birdsong.
Last night the moon was yellow and huge. My mother sends me photos
Of the sunrise from the hospital where she works. My father
Texts about his apartment flooding. The heart emoji is often
My response, these days.