Friday, January 31, 2014

the drawing block

go back to the drawing block-
before we carved our initials into it's knife scraped wood, 
and like a chopping board i feel
all yellow in the middle now.
the beautiful things age the hardest and pick up bits of 
time in their delicate grooves, grow dust twice as 
fast and like an over-loved bear, i slipped between the cracks of your wall 
and your sheets and knotted 
against your spine.
gave you ultimatums and 
sleepless nights to ponder the difference between comfortable beds and
clean ones.

i was the foolish carpenter
mistaking stress fractures for rotting beams and scrubbing them
with steel wool, telling myself that i was
fixing it, "i'm fixing it"
now i am calcified as an old bone break.
i can't go back to the drawing board and recreate us as parallel lines but i can appreciate
how we twirl together tighter than DNA.
you tell me that you are coming home and i become aware, 
for the first time, of how aching my feet have grown from
standing on the front porch, 
waiting. 
you come through the door and hang your coat up, i collapse
into your arms.

1 comment:

Cheryl said...

"I feel all yellow in the middle now".

Sometimes you read something, and it's so perfect and truthful and beautiful even when it's melancholy and sad and slow, and this is exactly how that line struck me, just perfect, like a gong in my bones.

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