A gasping vessel of empty space #poem #poetry #micropoetry

wooden slat chairs ~
blow empty where we sat ~
on a five acre deck of back lawn.
Our firepit a punctuation of ash. ~

for I have left these weathered cracks
to go and get the old me back.

what matters is not love ~
some intention of our yearning ~
pouts sprout in fields of ashen doves ~
this harvest done ~
this turf’s for turning.

for I have left these weathered cracks
to go and get the old me back.

dissolving mist upon the river ~
a warming hypocaust of sky ~
the air’s old laughter turned to shivers ~
in rear-view mirror I glance good-bye.

for I have left these weathered cracks
to go and get the old me back.

your home taught hypothesis:
my laundry, I never asked to wash. ~
the dinners, I never asked to make. ~
Blouses now hang in a ilence of cotton wind ~
pasta with its rolling pin ~
chased me from the kitchen.

once I cooked in handwashed silks
and now I want that old me back.

keys, and dreams, and satin thoughts ~
surrendered in this cell for naught. ~
while you trained me to become ~
what maybe you could learn to love.

this clock has whipped grim calm to flax
and now I want the old me back.

None of this matters now. ~
No.
What matters is this —>

who stood at your aching shoulder ~
and in sickness had your back? ~
your eyes now vault, raptured in empty heaven ~
while I plod, splashing the gray mercy of rain.

It’s me there–>
blown fur in the center of the road. ~
It waits, that me, in a caracassed dawn ~
just beyond ~
5 acres of lawn.

THE END

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6 thoughts on “A gasping vessel of empty space #poem #poetry #micropoetry

  1. Nice to find you here too! 🙂

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