I don’t get over it
no matter what it is. It
invariably looms over
me like some sheer
cliff for more or less time
and sticks in my memory
for longer.
I’ll likely be the same
(more or less) afterward
but shall be more defined
by having gone through it,
whatever it is. In the past
it’s been many different things;
some were steeper
and sharper and cut me
to form more starkly.
Whatever it is or will be
I will expect pain,
will expect to be modified:
to be made into something
meant to be left behind
as it stalks off towering
into my past —
something to be cast off.
I won’t have a chance to get over it
because it will be gone
before I can even try.
