Hitching a ride, trusting a partner, marrying the same person three times
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Jane Hilberry lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. She exchanged poems with her father, Conrad Hilberry, when she was a teenager, and they collected their poetry in a chapbook titled This Awkward Art: Poems by a Father and Daughter.
“Hi, it’s just me.” This might be the only phrase I know for sure / was on the years of messages the phone company erased / when they — inexplicably — changed my number. / The messages are gone, but the grief is still there, / ripe, a fullness I’m glad I possess. We think we want grief / to pass, but what would I do if it were gone, / like the messages, irretrievable?
It’s not as though I was going on dates, gorging / on the daily bread of sex, before the governor told us all / to stay home.