The day we met I made a necklace
from the first cut- nail I pulled from your hardwood floor.
I wore it to remind me how painful life was,
before you.
Now I have to go back and that necklace is waiting
over four stubborn impressions
in our bedroom rug.
There’s a spent book of matches in place of the couch,
green fruit in a warm coffin drawer,
and a lint tumbleweed clinging to one brown sock
near a soap ring on the pantry floor.
Yesterday, I urged the pan- head out to the lake.
Behind dark glasses and loud exhaust pipes
I found some tears.
Today, that’s the whole of it; Tears and a rusted cut –nail.
I resent that nail for the new painful reminder,
but I have a decision to make:
Return the favor (and a measure of justice) and leave it here hanging’
on a nail of its own, or welcome it home,
drive it deep to the only place you still exist.
It’s weird though;
in this, what remains of a life and place, it feels like
an old friend and I’m thinking,
“what’s a little crucifixion between friends.”

02/26/2007

Posted on 02/27/2007
Copyright © 2026 Michael Anthony