Mary C Sims

Inexorable

In the waiting room, I said, No one gets twice. & that year, you walked
                        kitchen’s hilt, saying, Sorry. Fuck. Sorry, again—glass in one hand
            to keep future in another.

     I pass strangers at every storefront, drop plums
                   anywhere I walk. Neighbors peel light past noon
                                                         & I keep talking like there’s somewhere else

to look. I’m entitled to believability. I say it will haunt my life
                              meaning it will haunt my life. Atop the counter, the laundry
         room floor, you laughed, I wasn’t scared

                & now I have a god around every corner. A house
                    stays a house behind us. A lake’s still a lake
                                                                                with my brother inside.

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Mary C Sims is an MFA graduate from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and a former poetry editor for The Greensboro Review. Her work has appeared in The Shore, wildness, Josephine Quarterly, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Carolina Quarterly and more. Currently, she splits her time between working as an Assistant Editor, Journalist, Poetry Editor and Freelance Photographer when she is not, once again, traveling to visit her friends.