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she tells me the story of him
by Brynn Dizack...she turns to one side, already elbow deep in sleep
this is another year.
we sit
in the kitchen,
(that is, me,
and the jars,
a bowl of clementines on the table,
crumb carpets,
and a half-full glass of
water.)
mail slides through the slot, and
slaps the floorboards.
we are so susceptible to guilt,
so apt to unravel.
our war is the war of leaking faucets
&& the moan of radiator pipes;
of three or four unfinished novels
on the bedside table.
this morning is putting on airs.
the light is dim;
irate crows in the yard,
a lawnmower somewhere up the street.
we still have so much to learn.
02/18/2009 Posted on 02/18/2009
Copyright © 2024 Brynn Dizack
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 02/19/09 at 03:07 AM "our war is the war of leaking faucets
&& the moan of radiator pipes;
of three or four unfinished novels on the bedside table."--I really, really like that man. So much great imagery in this whole thing.
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| Posted by Ava Blu on 01/23/11 at 08:56 PM Love. |
| Posted by Katie Dean on 01/28/11 at 01:26 AM lovely |
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