in parentheses

Know that it exists

and follows along like a shadow,

attached to our hips

or igniting in our marrow,

anonymous and strong,

it stands up to our talent,

and not before too long,

we’ve lost what made us valiant.

Never quite so gentle,

but disturbingly quiet,

I’d hear it better if my heart

could offer me the gift of silence.

Never too far off,

and deep in love with me,

no husband of my choosing,

in love with my defeat.

If I become my years,

all gray and looking back,

I pray I’ll finally know it’s face,

and pray it won’t come back.