I woke up in darkness
same as when we went to sleep
looked at you, realized how much
you looked like David Byrne in his
Talking Heads days.
I felt your callused hands,
said in my sleepy voice,
"That must be from plumbing."
Between discussions of Brat Pack
movies and "being in our 30's" stories
we slept, but I kept waking.
I heard your teeth grinding,
something you said you didn't know you did.
Had no one ever slept
that close to your mouth?
When light came, I giggled
told you how you smelled of beer
reminded you, "We were trying to remember
Anthony Michael Hall's name last night."
You said, "It's easy now isn't it?"
I looked at your paintings, stacked
against the bedroom wall, waiting to be packed
in the U-Haul in the front yard,
said,"the depth, the color...I want to
climb inside that one."
A plumber and a painter, I suggested you do
pipe art. You said,
"I was never good at 3-D."
5 comments:
i am always ever so much more drawn to what i believe to be "confessional" poetry than i am a mere string of words that sound lovely together and end up empty on my soul...
this was definitely a piece that wrapped it's arms around me and drew me in... bravo!!
Oh thank you Paisley...what kind words!
Holly, this was really lovely. I love the ending especially, and the detail about waking up throughout the night. Oh, familiarity!
Hey, Holly! Beautiful poem. I love it all, especially the "teeth grinding" stanza and the question that says so much. It's very lovely and with a tinge of sadness. I love how you do it without being overly dramatic, too.
Wonderful work as always:)
Thank you Slynne for visiting! I will be in touch.
Also, Julie, thank you as always, you are such a wonderful reader. Yes, some sadness.
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