Haunted

November 15, 2010

The route line that incidentally spells CN. Outside our hotel window, that train, the bridge, my old home. Had I thought of that?

The street is busier now, there are pretty girls in scarves and boots, leather jackets, bars. They haven’t torn the whole building down yet, the place we lived, but they are changing the road and there is more glass, new, taller buildings.

Was it you? I left the room barefoot and only after the second door sucked shut did I wake up. There had been a weird indifference, a dead-easy pull.

There was a humbling exchange with the night staff. Like a CAMH patient I was escorted in the elevator. He answered the door in his underwear, I pushed myself in, past his confusion.

It was the morning of your birthday.

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