The end of the beginning of the end by Myriam San Marco

I don’t know if I will talk
to you, we may dance with
each other, polite strangers
in an overflowing train.

I don’t know if dinner
as a family is a good idea,
you see, everything I eat
tastes of screeching tyres.

I don’t know if I could kiss
my children one last time,
passport in hand, leave you
in charge of the school run.

I didn’t know how broken
I could be when I took
the ring off my finger,
felt the touch of not there.

I know how hard the stairs are,
I know the doors I walked into,
I know my cup is full and I drink.

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