the notebook i burned that day i learned hate:
i wish i had those words again.
the one long coat i’ll never wear
and the books i’ll never sell, that sit damply expiring
in the back of the closet beside this box
(since they don’t all fit).
the nights you spend alone, every
one folded tight like an unused rain slicker.
my mother’s wedding ring.
my father’s Saint Christopher, the one
he wore for years after they told his sixteen-year-old self
he had a fourteen-percent-chance.
the Saint Jude i lit for the ones who didn’t, their names
melded to the bottom now.
all the poems i write but that no-one can see, and this one,
that picture frame she threw at me, before she could throw it:
those hours picking glass shards from skin i will
never get back.
11 thoughts on “they told me this was a poem”
You are not alone
I see you and feel you
That was also my fire
And my rage
As the journal burned
Those are my books
In the closet, too
But now I give them away
People may not pay
But they are deeply touched
Who am I to judge?
Like Mom and Dad
We are here but a short time
Someday..just medallions and rings
And urned ashes on the mantel
Keepsakes and memories
But right now
I see you
And feel you
You are not alone
awww… thanks so much, Tiger. both for the words and the sentiment. hope life is treating you well, my friend. namaste.
Wow…powerful ending. A strong and good write.
liked that one…
dang great close on this one…the skin you will never get back…all the little touches of things along the way as well…treasures really…things you hate to lose…burned a notebook once…actually it was burned for me…and i still feel where it once grew from my heart…
Discard the box and empty that closet. Completely.
There are gems here, for example “the nights you spend alone, every / one folded tight like an unused rain slicker”, which compels the reader to the dark vision you have hear, starless and black as a folded-up raincoat… but the overall effect is cumulative, mesmerizing.
Hi la-poetessa – this was filled with many powerful images. I used to keep my memories in a box – but realized life was easier and lighter if I just kept them in my head. Now I’m trying to write them all, before my hard drive is wiped clean by dementia, a fine write this is. Your pal – el Mosk
dear Mosk, you do a helluva job of getting ’em down. much better than in a box, i’d say. 🙂
“i wish i had those words again”
Ahh, but I feel that way most of the time. Excuse while I read this piece again and drown in all the metaphors 🙂
excused indeed! 🙂 thank you so kindly.