are the signs of your remorse:
the depths which break the seals on two lost years
when you hid yourself in shame.
with a gush and a hiss you cracked time open
and let the air within gush out
so that the world could see what you hid under your cap
for those two grueling years.
you had lullabies and a unicorn painted
on a plaster wall—they were all in your head
as you though of the blanket you were going to learn how to knit
before those two years passed so slowly.
under a single bulb i see the sinking
of those two lost years on your neck
shoulders and back—the simple pain in your hips
from 31 months of nothing:
the first nine were the hardest, i'm sure.