A year of no-contact is pressing
its awareness back into my consciousness
it took a number at my service counter
intrusively flashing in bold red numbers
sliding into my morning coffee break
It paraded itself in a fancy designer suit last month
when your birthday came and went
and I swallowed my silence back down,
as if I could digest it more thoroughly this time
as if I would choose this for myself
for some detached, aloof reason
instead of circumventing walking willingly into a fire
again and again
+++
Six months ago you sent a smoke signal
as if to say -
"see what you're missing" -
with a disinterested tone that implied
you couldn't care less one way or another
that I had extricated myself from your personal
shooting range
sometimes laden with rose-petaled words
often daggers
No apology for the last round that found its mark
sunk deep into my flesh with an audible
"complicated" and "I forgot" thunk
that scar has just begun to fade
~~~
When I said we should be friends
I didn't opt in to be your odd man out
waiting on your whim of the month
always drawing the short straw
How much humility did you think I had in me?
How much disregard did you think I could absorb
before I let it go
cut the line to be free?
I will freeze these words too with a simple
'publish' button-click
lay them out neatly in black and white
to replace the red
Quiet the "wish it could be different" voice
because it can't and it isn't
and here it will rest, unchanged
(the sole witness to our funeral)
About the Creator
Sarah Lenn
Using writing as a way to capture snapshots of emotion on a screen whilst life happens. And life has thrown me some curve balls. Always striving to find a path through the chaos...
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More stories from Sarah Lenn and writers in Poets and other communities.
After the Storm
After the storm of winter snow there sat a small bear by the name Ted, of course. He loves the snow and likes to roll around in it making all sorts of trails and whatever he has a mind to do. He wondered where all the people are, but in a way, he is hoping that they are all snug in the homes maybe drinking hot chocolate-one of his favorite drinks with mini-marshmallows and eating something homemade for he likes this winter wonderland all to himself to romp and play and maybe even catch some fish down by the river.
By Mark Graham4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
This piece reads like an open wound that has finally learned how to heal. Sarah’s command of rhythm and tone gives the writing both rawness and grace.
Omggg, that smoke signal is sooo real. Your poem was so heartbreaking and relatable. Loved it!