we talk of endings
casually, like shutting
some collective door
on what has passed before
or turning the page
on a play’s final act
and walking away
unscathed,
pretending it could be
so easy to gather
up those broken pieces
and soldier on.
but we fail to grasp
how most fences
can never be mended
while some ties survive
unended, and every
about-face just a change
of direction
for the better (or not?)
with nothing left
to show for the effort
except a box full of memories
and some scars.
