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Title: Wood Blocks View count: 8 Rating: 0 (0 ratings) Description: I have loved you like a wishbone pulled apart by the children, who tug out their teeth and hold them beneath dreams, to pray for money instead. I have loved you like a crack in the dyke that wakes from her nap, before the city— goes to bed. You look for me on the shelves of libraries you visited as a kid. You state that my record sleeves smelt like dust, until the needle burnt the years between play. I wore the tan jacket with elbow patches, and you wore my voice— like slime on a snail. We made love in the jail hall, as the convicts stared from their cells. They beat at their bars with water mugs and asked the judge to hold all mail. I have been the hiking stick worn by a shepherd who walks with a limp. I have been the piece of thread that gets caught between film and the lens. The audience hollers. They want a refund. But the projectionist will not turn on the lights. This is their excuse to burn the city down, while the firemen applaud with the crowd. Will you be a bride for me, torn like a broken fingernail? I was writing you notes on a Scrabble board, but you beat me with a triple word score. You broke my heart and hushed my wants, pouring my letters in a grey velvet bag. And there I will stay to yearn and wait, for the next rainy day. This box is shut and secured beneath- a thin red rubber band. Copyright 2009 Matt Kane Tags: poetry, poem, chicago, seattle, Author: mattkaneart |
