Never again will I take a hug for granted. Here’s hoping you’re holding your loved ones and beloved activities tight in this wild and weird time. For me, that’s my tiny circle of VIPs, puzzles, poetry and occasionally a wrinkle in time where I stare at a wall.
Poems in particular are expressive nuggets of emotion, of which we’re currently feeling many of them simultaneously. Here, a series of three poems I wrote at the beginning, beginning of the end and then the end of the end of a different turbulent time of my life. Perhaps you’ll relate.
It’s hard to write poems in the middle.
So good, no good
Gimme half that pill
You're trouble, you say
But you can't stay away
Let's go to hell together
Wake the neighbor's baby first
Touch me there
Touch me everywhere
Because the rent is paid
And the gloves are off
So shh, no more talk.
You think I’m kidding about moving to Montana
To stare at the sky and
Try to forget that you never said sorry
I’m such my mother
Running out the door with my hair on fire
Moving around but rarely moving on
I chipped a tooth chewing too hard
On my misspoken words
But you don’t care and I can’t not
Let’s admit our love’s not enough
Pack our bags, split the bills
Tell everyone we tried
Just don’t think I’m kidding about moving to Montana
Lost or found
If love, so often, is lost,
how come nobody ever finds it?
You never stumble across it on a street,
like a penny Lincoln side up.
Maybe it's not lost.
Maybe our verbiage is all wrong.
Love could run away, I suppose,
if it's a living thing,
love could die.
What if love’s like dogs
– you know, those scraggly country dogs still in tune with nature –
who limp away from home to die alone.
Maybe your love, my love, our love
walked away on its own accord and
we didn't even notice until
we combed through the woods by the creek
and found it lying there lifeless.
Things are lost out of carelessness,
a lack of attention.
Things die from neglect.
So which was it?