(no subject)
sometimes i write poetry. this is rough and i'm not sure how i feel about it, maybe. i haven't written in too long. help?!
I.
We were watching that TV show, you know,
The one we’re always watching, depending on what
Month it is, and the man on the screen has lost his wife,
And you say, thoughtfully, that you couldn’t imagine what
That would be like. I ask you if you mean marriage and you say,
No. Losing my spouse. I can’t imagine my life after something
Like that. I almost remind you that you don’t ever want to
Get married, but I don’t want to start that fight, so instead
I say, I couldn’t either. This, I think, will be the end of it.
But you keep going, and it’s like you’re talking to yourself.
You say, I don’t think I could just move on from someone I chose
To love forever. You look at me, and for a second I don’t recognize
You, and you ask, how could you move on? The person you love
Stops breathing, and you have to keep on living, and what?
Will people expect you to move on? Should you fall in love again,
Someday? I couldn’t do that. I don’t think I could ever do that.
I laugh in that way I laugh about things that are ironic, and my tongue
Feels like vinegar. I wonder, do you remember what my tongue tastes like,
Anymore? I say, I couldn’t either. I don’t love that way. I
Don’t know how.
I realize now that there is a difference between what you say
and what you choose. And I’ve known for months now,
That words exchanged in Spring have a very different meaning in
The Winter after we have made very different choices.
I don’t remember the taste of you, either.
II.
She calls me on the phone and says strange things. She doesn’t
Sound like herself and I have to stop her. I ask her what she’s
Saying. I say, you’re like smoke and I don’t do cigarettes,
So make this clear for me. She says, Don’t be afraid, I’ve done
The research and it won’t hurt a bit. I’m just going to stop
Breathing. I can feel my body panic and I feel helpless and
Angry at my nerves for responding in ways that won’t fix
A damn thing. I take too long to respond and I hear her
Asking if I’m still on the line. Yeah, I say, yeah. Where else am I
Gonna go? She goes on about how I shouldn’t be sad,
That she’ll just be at peace, and I’m not listening. I realize I don’t
Know her well enough to know if this is real. I realize I can’t
Fix this for her. I want to say, I can’t make you happy,
Don’t do this to me, please, please, please. I can feel various
Parts start to go numb. My lips are tingling and my knee caps are
Floating at my hips, my mouth is dry. I’m thirsty and I realize I have never
Tasted her tongue. She is calling my name.
You have no idea what you’re doing, I say, and I hang up the phone.
She calls back the next day, and we pretend nothing happened
The night before. I never taste her tongue, but it never matters again,
Anyway.
III.
He picks me up from work and I fall into the passenger seat,
My bones creaking and finally settling like dust in exhaustion,
And I tell him about my day, about the sadness of insanity and
Aging and dying alone. He shakes his head and says, you work
your whole life, save up some money and after 80 years you spend it
all on some stranger taking care of you when it finally makes you crazy.
He rolls down the window and lights a cigarette. I’ve grown
Accustomed to the chill at night and the smell of his breath. I watch
His mouth while he‘s talking. Dry, bitter and out of focus.
He takes a few drags and my head is lulled to a half sleep
By the smell of smoke. He says, there’s something weird about dying.
When you’re around it enough, you can tell when it’s coming.
I remember when his father died, and the emptiness of the room
With his body on a bed and how I couldn’t bring myself to
Touch his hand, because I knew he just wasn’t there anymore.
I don’t say this out loud. I nod instead, and he says, from what I’ve seen,
I think a persons spirit checks out before their body dies. If you believe
In spirits.
I do.
IV.
An old lady sits in the a chair and it’s the same chair she’s always sitting in.
I bring the cup to her lips, to help her drink. Nutritional beverages.
I’ve learned to hate the smell. Sickly sweet and warm milk.
She doesn’t talk much, and I don’t expect anything
Coherent. She spits out the drink and I put the cup down. I let her win.
We sit holding hands, staring at the television screen.
She looks up at me and says, I’m going to die here.
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
I.
We were watching that TV show, you know,
The one we’re always watching, depending on what
Month it is, and the man on the screen has lost his wife,
And you say, thoughtfully, that you couldn’t imagine what
That would be like. I ask you if you mean marriage and you say,
No. Losing my spouse. I can’t imagine my life after something
Like that. I almost remind you that you don’t ever want to
Get married, but I don’t want to start that fight, so instead
I say, I couldn’t either. This, I think, will be the end of it.
But you keep going, and it’s like you’re talking to yourself.
You say, I don’t think I could just move on from someone I chose
To love forever. You look at me, and for a second I don’t recognize
You, and you ask, how could you move on? The person you love
Stops breathing, and you have to keep on living, and what?
Will people expect you to move on? Should you fall in love again,
Someday? I couldn’t do that. I don’t think I could ever do that.
I laugh in that way I laugh about things that are ironic, and my tongue
Feels like vinegar. I wonder, do you remember what my tongue tastes like,
Anymore? I say, I couldn’t either. I don’t love that way. I
Don’t know how.
I realize now that there is a difference between what you say
and what you choose. And I’ve known for months now,
That words exchanged in Spring have a very different meaning in
The Winter after we have made very different choices.
I don’t remember the taste of you, either.
II.
She calls me on the phone and says strange things. She doesn’t
Sound like herself and I have to stop her. I ask her what she’s
Saying. I say, you’re like smoke and I don’t do cigarettes,
So make this clear for me. She says, Don’t be afraid, I’ve done
The research and it won’t hurt a bit. I’m just going to stop
Breathing. I can feel my body panic and I feel helpless and
Angry at my nerves for responding in ways that won’t fix
A damn thing. I take too long to respond and I hear her
Asking if I’m still on the line. Yeah, I say, yeah. Where else am I
Gonna go? She goes on about how I shouldn’t be sad,
That she’ll just be at peace, and I’m not listening. I realize I don’t
Know her well enough to know if this is real. I realize I can’t
Fix this for her. I want to say, I can’t make you happy,
Don’t do this to me, please, please, please. I can feel various
Parts start to go numb. My lips are tingling and my knee caps are
Floating at my hips, my mouth is dry. I’m thirsty and I realize I have never
Tasted her tongue. She is calling my name.
You have no idea what you’re doing, I say, and I hang up the phone.
She calls back the next day, and we pretend nothing happened
The night before. I never taste her tongue, but it never matters again,
Anyway.
III.
He picks me up from work and I fall into the passenger seat,
My bones creaking and finally settling like dust in exhaustion,
And I tell him about my day, about the sadness of insanity and
Aging and dying alone. He shakes his head and says, you work
your whole life, save up some money and after 80 years you spend it
all on some stranger taking care of you when it finally makes you crazy.
He rolls down the window and lights a cigarette. I’ve grown
Accustomed to the chill at night and the smell of his breath. I watch
His mouth while he‘s talking. Dry, bitter and out of focus.
He takes a few drags and my head is lulled to a half sleep
By the smell of smoke. He says, there’s something weird about dying.
When you’re around it enough, you can tell when it’s coming.
I remember when his father died, and the emptiness of the room
With his body on a bed and how I couldn’t bring myself to
Touch his hand, because I knew he just wasn’t there anymore.
I don’t say this out loud. I nod instead, and he says, from what I’ve seen,
I think a persons spirit checks out before their body dies. If you believe
In spirits.
I do.
IV.
An old lady sits in the a chair and it’s the same chair she’s always sitting in.
I bring the cup to her lips, to help her drink. Nutritional beverages.
I’ve learned to hate the smell. Sickly sweet and warm milk.
She doesn’t talk much, and I don’t expect anything
Coherent. She spits out the drink and I put the cup down. I let her win.
We sit holding hands, staring at the television screen.
She looks up at me and says, I’m going to die here.
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.