I’m getting used
To not saying your name
Like I’m getting used to
This crease between my eyebrows
Like I’m getting used
To polarised politics
Like I’m getting used to
Millennial rhetoric
I’m getting good at
Letting you go
I’m excelling in avoiding
Stores that play Aretha Franklin
I’ve de-cluttered my life
My heart’s been Marie Kondo-ed
I’ve let you go
Like meat, eggs and dairy
Like takeaway coffee cups
And planning overseas trips
They say absence is where
There once was presence
Like the curve in my back
Is empty of your belly
Like the gaps in my playlist
Heavy vacancies which
Won’t. Stop. Beating.
Like leaving the last of your things
At your mum’s back door
I’m getting used to
Not having you
Like I’m getting used to
Tear ducts empty of tears
Like I’m getting used to
Perfection looking uglier
A fresh farm egg
Raw with embryo
I’m getting used to saying
Your name in silent prayers
And all the paths in my minds map leading
Incessantly to you
Like a well-designed
Public transport system
I. Can’t. Get. Off.
