I work to weave
this bit of space
into something
more transcendent,
more ethereal.
The folded clothes
stacked on the chair,
the last pair of
shoes I wore
discarded
near the bed.
A coat hanging
on the doorknob –
the entry door open
(never blocked)
because the dogs
don’t understand –
my desk, my time,
these stories crafted
from nothingness – so
they still stop by to visit
every once in awhile,
sitting quietly,
in hope of a bone.
~January 2012
We talk
and there remains
a tension, friction
of what we
once meant
to each other.
More in common
now than then –
We share
two children,
four grandchildren –
a silver chain of being
links us still –
Regrets obvious
as we talk
while
the children watch –
shocked by the lack of
argument.
Did we really hate
each other so much? Or,
was it more about
how deeply
we hated ourselves?
Oil and water
from two different worlds –
Shared stubbornness
our greatest commonality.
Married once, in love
with the idea of
each other — the cold reality,
that we were just children
haunts me still.
We’re growing older
and it is easier
to talk about
what we never were,
things we tried to be,
all we had to kill.
That mutual cold death
of ending
that set us free.
~written February 2011
Photo Credit: Broken Love by analil.deviantart.com
I start the day
thinking of nothing
in particular. Survival,
another day at the office
to get through — the
daily horoscope
smiles advice,
trembles warnings.
“Stay away
from reckless people – avoid
a mysterious x-love,
avoid daredevils and
those with death wishes.”
I think of you
for the first time
in weeks: lips,
whispered breath,
gentle touch
against my neck,
hands meeting your
warm hard presence
pulling me into memory.
My phone vibrates,
displays your name in bright
translucent green.
I end my day
thinking of mysterious
influences, daredevils, horoscopes,
and the cliff I once jumped from
with spectacular, reckless courage.
~May 2012
Marissa Colleen Mullins 