Poetry

Aubade for the Quiet Before I Walk Home and Never Call You Again

by

Josette Torres

The hotel room fridge buzzes
low, soft, soothes darkness
into acquiescence for a few
moments more. Yesterday
I mumbled So nervous, I hate
this, so nervous, I hate this
as I descended the stairs.
In any other world, this would
be a normal first date. But why
would my world ever approach
normality? There’s no good
way to say I think this is a bad
idea, so I went through with it.
You did whatever you wanted—
sleep took you quickly but left
me awake in climate-controlled
second-guessing. Distant birds
chirp songs of the carefree.