Saturday, September 13, 2014

List Poem (Draft 2)

Cleaning a room is an odd experience,
like a trip into a jungle,
where’ve you seen everything before
but they suddenly have new meaning,
or it's more like an exotic
trip, one to the canyons, where every item
is suddenly valuable,
Kind-of like those old pants I bought you
the ones that never fit you quite right,
but you wore them anyway, just to make me happy
though I knew you never did like them,
or your mountain of mismatched socks,
the ones I never could throw away - even though
we both knew I wanted to, but you, 
you were so adamant in your defense,
claiming that one day, their soul-mate would come
but that day never did come, and it never will,
not since the day I received that message, the one thrown
on my desk in a crumbled mess,
the one covered in bitter tears so potent,
the black ink smeared, pooling onto that ricketty, raggedy desk
you spent all your time at, the cigarette dish still fresh,
your cologne, still too strong - the one that always
made me sneeze - your faded drawings, covered in crayon and marker.
your favorite pen, used to write many of letters back in the day, your box of tissues
the tissue!Oh, how could I forget
the tissue? The one you used to dab at my eyeliner
joking about how I looked akin to a raccoon
and oh how mad that made me, but you
you laughed it off, that deep laugh of yours
that sung a melody like the music box
A music box like a snow globe. My snow globe.
Remember that?
The glass could never be cleaned, and the snow
never quite looked right, but you
worked so hard, throwing those darts
and nailing the target
and winning the globe
You held it proudly, like a trophy
then handed it over to me
Now here it lies,  clouded with dust

Is it still your trophy now?

What about that old piece of bread
you kept in that liquid-filled dish
That grew a whole colony
and I urged you to throw it out
but you never could do it
How about your lucky ball cap
that smelled and had more holes than it ought
but you wore it anyway
your raven-black hair protruding through
like a smooth pebble
in a river that flew too fast

I would venture through this forest a million times
if it meant I’d find you at the end
with medals of gold on your chest

A hero, my hero

Just like you always have been
even with your quirks. The ones I loved

I loved every part of you, I always will

I even keep that ghastly clock in my room
that one that never did quite work
The one that goes off the same time every day

if only I had a wish to make

But for now, I’ll settle with
those dried, dead flowers
given to me in the month of May
Proclaiming me at the Queen of them all

I wore my crown proudly
even though, it never did quite match,
My flour-stained apron, 
or weathered shoes

Listen now, the clock is chiming
it’s time to make a wish