when we were children

my cousin asks me if i still play the violin. we used to play music together. now he's a musician, a professional and i am just a girl who stopped. i shake my head. "not anymore," i say but i say it without shame or guilt because he's smiling at me with fondness. he believes in me. he will teach me what he knows and together we will play again like we did when we were children.

always

the new rooms are better than what i am used to

large with windows that overlook

black wires that cut a sad steady sky

these inherited uninhabited interchangeable rooms

i choose one and lose it so that i am always lost

everything shifts and i can see only up to a foot ahead of me

this labyrinth is in my mind

to foster this fear that is in me like my prayed-for child

even as i try i must find a room

any room that is familiar or one that feels safe

so i can sleep