Some poetry. Possibly bad. Definitely old.
Each night that my husband has rehearsal I try to find a new task to tackle. Sometimes it is the weekly cleaning list; other times it is a craft or a space to organize.
Tuesday night I decided to clean out the drawers of a certain piece of furniture that had obviously not been organized since I was in my first apartment. Of course I found new items, receipts and things from more current times, but also sketches from a dear friend I dated in high school and even some bizarre poetry I wrote.
In the spirit of entertainment, here is some weird poetry from me about 10 years ago.
<6:36 p.m.>
It happened one night.
I don’t know how.
Do I care, no, only
that it came to me.
I did not mean for it;
just felt it creep in
and settle deep within.
And then this seed grew,
Made a whole new complete.
I do not think to
be without it again
is a possibility that
I even crave at all.
Too long, an addiction
more than a tolerance to,
and bound, behold, I am.
Yet it happened one night.
I don’t know how.
Do I care, no, only
That I fell in love with you.
The Nighttime Promenade
I walk.
The ert, ert, ert of my treads
scratch on the sandy concrete.
Wet pavement.
As the wind tosses at curls
better kept behind ears,
which are alive with the sound of
the inevitable nighttime.
A glow, distant but warm, reflects
in the searching eyes.
I walk,
stirring crickets and still
of the evening air.
I have been here before.
Once upon a time…
but then, fairy tales were real.
Now there is only the
soft pounding on the sidewalk.
Fireflies dance to a mystic music
in the growing dark.
Do I know where this path goes,
My lonely sidewalk?
No, but I know I’ve been before.
So I walk, banging out the rhythm
Of the nightfall, the dark promenade,
with ert, ert, ert.
I walk.
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