Synapse Writer-In-Residence #NPM16
Letter-Poem In Lieu Of A Letter In Lieu Of A Better Poem About Feeling Lonely, Likely Because Of You, And If It Makes You Feel Something, Then It’s Probably A Fuck You For You
I don’t have time
for those who don’t return
my calls, make our dates, reciprocate my need
to have them fidget or still my table.
I think of them like jigsaw
bits; they are blue
sky pieces, the ones
I can make the image without.
I don’t let pretense plan
I don’t let missing pieces
contextualize my grief.
If you want to talk, then talk.
If not, watch me place you so
alone in the office notes I never use.
Elisha and I have plans for love,
for the table. New friends will grace
the circle, cut pie into. We will have coffee
and jerk chicken meat, salon ourselves
round Elisha’s orchid, cucumber shoots,
and talk poems until
you are edited out.
I will still think
about that old you, about that one or those two old times–
I will question whether or not I should have let you
go. I will write too literal poems.
It is a difficult life, where friends just other-people me. I may
have issues without you only you can solve,
and use my simple pride in stead to fail
in my own way. Elisha keeps me making
good, even as I sit in vigil/bar without her,
worried I am not a friend enough
to make her feel less anxious, more
full. This had to be a simple poem to make you all feel.
You don’t, in my world. My ghost reams out your ghost. So
poems pile that distance us; our roads apart read you out.
or Elisha’s man,
or old flame.
My loyalty lives
in the letter you never sent,
the one I never responded to
with talk of soon-
This is just to say