tiny canoes

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you are made up of everyone you’ve loved
they live inside your capillaries
ride your blood river
in tiny canoes
made up of wood
and memories

you notice them sometimes
the canoe attempts the impossible
and traverses through the aorta
that epicentre
of blood and feeling

it rides rough rapids
of turmoil
and regret
sometimes, longing
that terrible longing
the most wretched rapid of all

when your skin itches
that is them expanding
and contracting
touching your epidermis
to remind you they’re alive
and still a part of you

we are made up of everyone
everyone we’ve ever loved

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