Suspension of Disbelief

Suspension of Disbelief 

I brush off the grief that’s been lumbering my spirit

long enough to run outside for lunch.

Narrative break and narrative break—
this long‑overdue gap in space wallops my brain.


I arrive at my place in line.

My mind teeming with what I did and didn’t do,

spanning years and miles wide.

I accept the minute distraction,

compose my order before the proposition comes.

Six‑inch BMT, and it’s back to roiling remembrance,
chasing ghosts through my head.


The world feels shrinking.

Realities cinched I didn’t choose.

A decade‑long love I’m trying to put in the rearview.

Filaments behind my eyes flicker and strain,

stoking fear inside.

I’m going to bed and waking up somewhere that’s not my own.

I’m living a life carved by loss,
lighting a fire in the dark with what I’ve got.

The woman ahead speaks to me.

I crawl out of my head to tune in.

She marks these strange times,

the problems adding up,

my thinness and the swirling winds that could pick me up.

I’m adrift inside, but polite, and welcome

the chat that stops my spinning.

We go back and forth while we wait.

She exits the store with a touch
to my shoulder and a “take care” as she walks behind.


I order more than what I need.

The woman’s comment got to me.

I welcome her motherly projections as well‑meaning

affection, smile to myself, and go on.

I sit with my sandwich, gaze outside, and return to indifferent discordance.

Eye surgery’s scheduled.

I’m bumbling through limbo,

filling my time with what makes the ride worthwhile:

books read, jogs had, good meals shared with better company.

This would be a good life if it didn’t take unchosen loss to arrive—
if fear of further vision loss didn’t splinter these days going by.


My world feels shrinking,

but the days go by.

I’m thankful for the time,

for the tears and fears

that left the irrelevant
things behind.

This limbo,

one chapter of many—

a free‑fall I’m learning

to call peaceful—

tells me that I have plenty
though I feel empty.


Narrative break.

I finish lunch, walk outside,

full and alight, return to my car.

The music resumes.

I slide back into a healthy swagger—

my head bounces, shoulders roll

to the tempo.

I’m off down the road to continue in limbo,

to hold fast to solace in my solitude
as the days go by.

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