Your place is dirty but wise
With its bachelor laundry piles
Under grand works of art,
With mildewed bathroom tiles
And I put it back together before you come home
Like you put me back together
Every eve, in the twilight;
Decidedly pensive
Always the bigger spoon
The blank canvas propped in the corner
Sees hours of talk and tears
And shaking, rocking on the floor
Just a new interpretation of the night before
It could tell more than any ancient tapestry
Or empty cathedrals discarded in disuse
But I’d rather leave it pure; white; blank;
So one of us would be
And the music healed
Or was it the wine
Cheap but soothing on its way down
Or was it you
With your chenille throw
Crimson like the cuts it covers
Attempting to warm me, to hide me
So I’ll overlook what’s taken place before
And you’ll make me forget
What hasn’t happened yet
Written in 2004
For the month of April, I’m encouraging writing as therapy, as outlet, as companion, as hope. National Poetry Month isn’t just about the great authors that inspire us in school. It’s about drawing from the great depth of emotions within ourselves to artfully arrange experiences in words. My tough relationships are unique to me, but tough relationships aren’t unique to the human experience. That’s why writing and reading about them can be equally cathartic. I picture a particular ex’s place with details specific to our story, but the speaker of the poem doesn’t prevent those details from being reinterpreted to fit another’s tough story.
Writer's Growth 