that picture of us
haunts me
how can an image
knock the wind out
more swiftly
then the raw violence
of a sucker punch
I’m not getting
enough oxygen
to my brain
to formulate
a coherent thought
or assemble any inkling
of flowing prose
I have these moments
gifts really
of rare happiness
and confidence
in myself
and my future
and my choices
I can see
how far I’ve come
how much better
I have gotten
how good I was
to begin with
but once glance
at that picture
and I’m backpedaling
I’m haunted
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