- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Catching up with the Dead
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"Baby it has been so long,
what do you want to talk about?"
You blurt, Spaghetti Sauce
skitter out the door sideways,
knuckles down.
At first I laugh but I see now,
you want me to tell you about
everything. How I still sometimes wait
until morning to clean up after,
noodles dried into hard orange curls,
wine evaporated into burgandy circles
at the bottom of the glass.
You want me to tell you how the children have grown,
how they haven't. How they will not let me wet the napkin
with my tongue to wipe their mouth anymore.
You want to hear the sound
of dishes clinking under water.
Do you remember the night
the baby woke up crying
for his lost balloon, how
the promise of more balloons
would not soothe him?
In your silence then, I could feel it,
your own tears wanting to spill over onto me
lonely bones wanting me to carry you up to bed,
soak your aches.
He has forgotten about the balloon.
It is our memory now, one
that will not rinse easily.
I still watch for you sometimes
up, up out of my sunroof
your ribbon cut too short.
- COMMENTS
tazz317over 11 years agothe dead will wait for you to catch them, TK U MLJ LV NV
LeBrozabout 17 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
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twelveooneover 17 years agoand one last bittersweet five for old times sake, without further comment.
lobomaoover 17 years agoI am remiss
in being so late of late
that I cannot call after your memories
as they fade or lurk in the shadows
wanting to praise your children
before they are gone off and away
that is the tyrany of time.
Bill Dadaover 17 years agoI am at a loss for words, I think your words best describe your poems affect on me...
"It is our memory now, one
that will not rinse easily."
RhymeFairyover 17 years agoMy pick for the day ~!!
I love the flow and imagery. Now the clincher.
I feel in this poem. I feel the love, pain and all the loose ends that dangle before us in our daily lives.
The stanza with the napkin was pure poetics ... even the orange curls sticks to the gut like Steve said ... This one is most def. a keeper Anna ~
Keep'm coming girl, you have it in spades here ~
steve porterover 17 years ago...but a good one...and I liked orange hard curls because it's a good metaphor for this poem, like picking at the crusted remains with your fingernail...thanks.
LeBrozover 17 years agoLoss and pain
So skillfully crafted
These feelings creep up on you
With wistful glances through the sun roof.
Anonymousover 17 years agoAs always a very readable poem but for me there is still a little nipping and tucking to do such as this line... 'at the bottom of the glass. which is surplus to requirements for me and 'orange' in 'hard orange curls'. Maybe I'm a little over zealous on this one but I would see them as orange without being told they are.
Still, a nice poem though but not your best.
bb
Anonymousover 17 years agogreat images move this swiftly along the eyes...
mentioned on today's review....blue
