04-30-2016, 11:22 PM
Rewind
The noise of the chair falling
to the ground compresses
and fades into a single point
in space, a ripple returning
to the pond’s surface.
You pick up the chair to sit down again.
Tears run in rivulets backward up your cheeks,
cleaning the black smudges of mascara
to settle in shining eyes, now dry.
You remove food from your mouth
with your fork, and like an artist
reconstruct the unchewed almond-crusted salmon
with garlic crisp potatoes piece by piece. I unclear
my throat so that I cannot say,
“We need to talk.”
The noise of the chair falling
to the ground compresses
and fades into a single point
in space, a ripple returning
to the pond’s surface.
You pick up the chair to sit down again.
Tears run in rivulets backward up your cheeks,
cleaning the black smudges of mascara
to settle in shining eyes, now dry.
You remove food from your mouth
with your fork, and like an artist
reconstruct the unchewed almond-crusted salmon
with garlic crisp potatoes piece by piece. I unclear
my throat so that I cannot say,
“We need to talk.”
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson