“Regurgitate This”

by Emily Coppella

I cringe when I call it bittersweet.

When I try to explain that the love never went anywhere.

Didn’t shrivel, burn away, or evaporate.

Instead,

it hangs here.

Like a cloud.

I wait for it to do something. Maybe it’ll bloat into an elephant or combust into tendrils of lessons.

I get on my knees and beg this cloud to do something.

It just hovers — and watches me watching it.

I realize: It is part of my sky now. 

What a comfort to have this cloud.

What a comfort to know it will never leave.