Monday, April 12, 2010

Self-explanatory - Day 12 Poem

A Poem in However Many Parts it Takes


Walking and thinking


It started like this. Before the walk.

Not Said

words want
sadness brittle
heaved sigh
tears verge

Why is it we cannot break free of the past and speak to each other with the ease that should come with so many years? Why the silence? The fear? The hesitation builds a wall that we can't seem to breach.


Where is my rock pick? my sledgehammer? my jackhammer? my dynamite?


I have many doorways.
People pass through -
into and out of my life.
Some are pushed. Get out
until you can meet me
under the lintel. My only regret -
you never did. Father.
Some are carried. Give up
their feet, though they will
forever walk with me. Friends. lost.
Some come and go. Always met
with open arms. I'll not board my doorways.
Some are kicked through.
Welcome back. Sorry life sucks.
Come in, have some tea. Stay a bit.
You'll always have a home,
here, in my heart. You will know who you are.
Some leave, because they must, their road waiting
beyond my portal. Never will the door be closed. Children.


One is the doorway with me.


Music makes me cry.
I hate that good
can come from bad.


So many what ifs. A lifetime of stories
waiting to be written. A signpost pointing
many directions, all of them a destination.


Somewhere in this world, is a woman,
the spitting image of me. And there is
someone with my very same name.
We don't own any of this.
We own it all.


I have often felt like a fraud.
A cheap knock-off.
Dollar store copy.


You can stop pretending now. Little girl
playing dress up. Poet Barbie. Complete
with beret, black jeans, and turtleneck,
dog-eared notebook, coffee cup, canvas bag
brimming with angst.


I'm fiftyfuckingtwo years old! Time to grow up!


My sister said to me once,
nobody drives a car like yours
if they don't want to be seen.
I hated that she was right.


Painted toenails. Pine cones. Purple satin.
Weeds. Words. Wonder.
Napping cats. Knots of wood. Nasty thoughts.
Complicated. Confused. Carnivorous.
Insecure. Introspective. Indecisive.
Shy. Shameless. Selfish.
Mead. Mochas. Malted milkshakes.
Dust. Disliking housework. Dutiful to a degree.
Lust. Loyal. Lonely.


I am all these things,


and more.


Jo said...

I love this. And I feel it!

I'm 34 this month... and I feel like 52 is ... right there. Right around the corner.

Erobintica said...

Thanks Jo! I actually had someone who read it ask me if I was okay. (haha, and this was a "mild" poem)