Wednesday, September 10, 2014

List Poem


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 perhaps it’s more like an exotic
trip, one to the canyons, where every item
is suddenly valuable, such as those
tight pants that never did fit,
the ones you swore up and down, looked great on me,
or your mountain of mismatched socks,
the ones I never could throw away - even though
we both knew I wanted to, but you were so adamant in your defense,
claiming that one day, their soul-mate would come
but that day never did come,
not since that day I for 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 - 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 made that made me, but you
you laughed it off, that deep laugh of yours
that sung a melody like the music box
Remember that?
The glass could never be cleaned, and the snow
never quite looked right, but you
worked so hard, throwing those darts
(The ones I illegally took)
and nailing the target
winning the snow 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?
Or 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
Or your lucky ball cap
that smelled and had holes
but you were 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 keep that ghastly clock in my room
that one that never did quite work
The one that goes off the same time every day
11:11
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
11:11
it’s time to make a wish