Find me
In the drywall that peels
Off the walls of Buchanan
Every crack a birthmark
Every tear an ephemeral satisfaction
I have
Shredded it raw
Waiting for an impossibility
Find me
In the ink of your home address
I am running
Down the envelope
Inside, a t-shirt
Is a grenade
You pulled the string before
I even found it
Find me
In the green that crackles with a history
Hot sauce packets filling the cushions
My heart is alight
With their heat
To lie here
Even in pieces
Is to lie at peace
Find me
In the paving stone you trip on
In my middle name, remembered
In my earring, forgotten
In the door, jammed just for you
In the bench that never dried after it rained
The parts of this place
not captured by a transcript
My presence is in pieces,
not missing —
They belong elsewhere now.