A new poem by Lily Holloway.

Return Again

At some point, I will return to myself;
I sit, an empty bus terminal at the end of a dark gravel road,
waiting. Nostos means homecoming but also song
about homecoming. A howl spills out of me now, sirens
into the night; I do not turn around, I am walking
towards something far away from me. I imagine
turning back, running home: child self sitting alone
in the driveway of the house by the train tracks,
shrieking with joy at the bees; small rocks embedded
in my chubby shins, heads of lavender crushed
in my little fists. I worry I might only forgive myself
when I die. All dead things release their grip. Every day,
I make a million choices that are not forgiveness.
Every day, I wake, put on my face and my name.
A long time ago, in the blinding light,
the links between all of me were severed
for the first time. I can’t remember it clearly,
only the wound’s shape and colour. Jagged edge.
Night purple. The sound: snicker-snack. A room full
of me hunched over me hunched over me hunched over
me. Me throughout time spiralling inwards. A room empty
of everything else.