Borrowed Time

The spine is cracked and leaning to the right,

a paperback ghost from a house I used to know.

I saw your face on a phone screen late last night,

wrapped in a white dress and a staged, professional glow.

You’re getting married in a city near the coast,

while I’m still holding a thing I should have mailed.

It’s the small debts that end up hurting the most,

the minor promises where both of us have failed.

On page forty-two, there’s a ring of faded brown,

a coffee stain you left before we drifted wide.

I can’t bring myself to put this volume down,

or return the piece of you I’ve kept inside.