all the ifs


-Blaga Dimitrova

When you return,
if you return,
it’s only then you’ll find you’re gone.

The streets will lead
here there everywhere,
and only your somewhere will be standing still.

Your greeting will be
mumbled, downcast,
and it will find a stranger’s welcome.

Guiltily you’ll walk into your home,
looking all about
as though it’s a house forgotten in some dream.

And you’ll run your fingers
over your self missing
among the books and things all rearranged.

And you’ll know
something has been rearranged,
not merely your house but the world as well.

Just like that and naturally –
so as to occupy
the space taken up by you.

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