-Katherine Gotthardt
I am thinking
of my last mistake.
Not the previous one.
The one that will do me in.
The one that will cut through pieces of my life
like a butcher on amphetamines.
Uncareful. Uncaring. Unbelievable.
I read the story of the poor man
who got pulled onto train tracks by a dog leash,
car doors closing, dog safe inside,
he still on the platform. And then not.
Gutted by the morning commute.
He simply didn’t let go in time.
That I think will be my error,
my final metaphor, my abject refusal
to relinquish something
– or someone – I hold onto too dearly,
phenomenon beyond just stubbornness,
a constant second guessing, reluctance
to trust the first guess. More akin to terror
of mistepping, of moving too quickly.
Like not running from knives
in the hands of the splinter-minded.
Or dropping ties
that pull too close to death.
There is an art to letting things end.
I have not learned it yet.