bastards of distraction

poem

Photo by Roma Kaiuk on Unsplash

the pull of the past
steals my attention
breaks an ironclad focus
on the truth that’s at hand
breath becomes lost
as I stumble across
a familiar face
on a page,
a page that sears and stings
with the pain of regret —
regret that it might have been me
staring right back,
might have been me there
rightfully on track,
but instead the whole thing
strikes me right back
so far back, I need to remind…