I know it might hurt if you told me what you really think
of me, but I feel a deeper ache to never
be able to know why you vanished

boot tracks in the mud
followed by tire tracks
followed by my pause
two dogs looking with me at the heavy empty space

it will hurt if I ever get to know what you really think of me
it does hurt that I don’t know what I did wrong

a tingling through each finger
believe in a mineral deposit rushing downstream
I am pulled
and still find I am not moving

hurt from what I assume you think of me
hurt that I am wrong

I let the pain wash to the surface
as if I had been anywhere near a beach
imagined my body a shoreline
collecting everything that couldn’t move with the water fast enough
come with me broken muscle
come with me softened shattered glass

you don’t think of me
been wasting so much time

gathering home in lost trinkets
ignoring the barking at my back
as I bend down to examine where I am standing
I have been here before
remembering something…


think again

of anything else

Samantha Albala is a Boulder-based poet, gobbling up horizons and babbling about road trips, tea and anatomical hearts. See more writing at