Thursday, April 19, 2007
a bit..
Professor Anderson assigned us to write a poem about love in my creative writing: poetry course last quarter. We could not use the word "love" and we could not write ourselves as the persona.Apartment 76C
"I remembered the duck sauce, this time" I said.
"That's great--but I wanted soup and
it was spicy mustard anyway,"
she laughed. My eyes dropped
the scratch in the table--cherry, a
day trip to Portland. Her hair
soggy (rain). Dropped it in
the gutter. Scrapped finish but
it's still here.
"This will never work"
----I don't care.
"My mother hates you"
----She kind of hates you too.
Toothbrush bristles
mingling in a faded circus
(cracked) coffee mug. She leaned
on this sink on my 21st.
Hunched over the toilet I
prayed. Keep her.
"I see the way she looks at you"
----It was nothing.
"Will I be (_______ ) too?"
Space between us rice
(sticky) too long on the
stove.
"Damn, we missed the flick"
I laugh. I know all she wants
is the blue-flavored slushy
she won't finish ($) but I buy. It's
worth to see her like a hypothermic
bunny.
Our day's big plans dissolved into
blankets strewn across the floor,
Chinese aging in paper tubs.
We are silent beneath the him humm of re-runs
above The World buzzing. (Together) Between the static.
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