A day after a month

by amy sharp


I go the gym and ride the stationary bike on the random hill setting. I do this for 45 mins and I listen to dirty rap. Sweat is a river in my pants. Sometimes I raise my hands above my head like an athlete would do to stretch. I try and get my sadness to drain to the floor. To fall out of my body. Get it out of your body I whisper to myself.
It doesn’t budge.

Sometimes I just don’t trust anything at all.
Like we’re all standing on lace.
It’s delicate to the point of almost being funny.
I tell myself that I am a tiger.
I am strong and fierce and this thing under the surface of me is going to go away.
This pit of my stomach to level out.


We wave at each other from across the street.
The sun gives halos.
You see me.
Everything is like it once was.
Never again.