Blogging & Poems, My Poems

Pointing in Your General Direction

 

is a candlestick, snapped
at the base after being dropped

from a bag of date-night
accessories.

We had a terrible anniversary.
Two weeks later, we met

in the bedroom, and our bodies
were sad—sad fingers slipped

through sad hair, sad lips touched
sad mouths. Next, the room

was sad, and the neighbors
were sad while trying

to conceive a child. The deer
sleeping behind the bushes and

overgrown lilies were sad
and slept sad dreams. Now you are

a little older and place the broken
candlestick in a box with other

marital relics, along with a strand
of hair that was particularly sad,

a movie ticket, a tablecloth, even
your wedding ring, which you

drop into the box for a moment, shift
the contents around, and put back on.

 

 

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