4: company

am here, alone, mostly in
this little room. sometimes memory
tumbles out of me and leaves me
cold and heaving, tight-knuckles
on thighs, the weeping escaping
despite my best tries. memory
knows what i have lost: the sky-deep
laughs, the ankles entwined, the slight
smile that would deepen his smile-lines.
memory knows there was truth in my
arms, but still time tumbled recklessly
on. here we are now, apart, and me
here alone. memory kicks me down,
but agh! i'll fight back! my mama made
a fighter of me. when memory eases
out my back, i tend to all my company:

my kombucha slowly fermenting, little
threads of life, the bubbles quiet rising.
my plants are not dead -- each day i count
a new root break through into water, a new
bud emerging from a green arm or leg,
a leaf midway there, half-furled, so tender.
when i sweep, i see new dust gathered.
life shuffles forward. i make light tea
and go on living. there is good company
here, i must stop saying the word alone.