aayoungIt’s ordinary…
mundane, absolutely nothing special.
Part of a set that was purchased in the late 80’s
or early nineties would be my guess.
This brown, plastic 1/8 cup scoop
that came to symbolize our every morning
spent sharing coffee
no matter if we were 12 inches
or 1,200 miles apart. We always had coffee.
It is special because he sent it to me
in a care package when I was aching for him.
I still ache for him,
so it’s my coffee scoop until my dying day.
he loved me completely
he had the sweetest, big dumb bear grin
honey dripping even
when he looked at me
he smiled the length of the eastern seaboard
crooked loving sunshine in smiles over 5 o’clock stubble
whilst buying me tiny lobsters made of chocolate
took 1,001 pictures of me drinking coffee, eating lemon Italian ice
marveling at hermit crabs wearing ornately bejeweled shells
navigating social media oceans and long distance romances
from Neptune City to New York Harbor
we nearly sank together
we never truly said goodbye
we never stopped wanting
we never stopped feeling
but he never trusted himself
he never trusted me
though he had many names for me
baby gurl
angel kitten
alicia honey
sweetie poof,
and sometimes simply,
mine
he lied
and then abandoned me to coddle
his comfortable failures.
He once told me the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.
How’s that working out, jack?
I knew he would never have the courage
to call me the one thing he should have called me:
his wife.
Hosted by the hilarious Eric Lawson, Make Your Own Fun is a series where writers of every ilk are interviewed, but mostly freegin’ poets.
you are a book
i have kept open
in dimmest candlelight
long past
the reason of midnight
we were
never married
yet somehow
i still became
his widow
angry seething
stab you in the face with sentiment love poems
were my
specialty
my thing
boy howdy
did i ever generate
enough bloody material
a canon of cannon fire
yet i find
myself undone
fucking happy
sniffing daisies in a pinafore
my battle drum silent
as he gives me no reason
to write them
or go off to war
more painful
than losing the baby
was watching you cry
and
me remembering
the November
your sweet excuse
for everything was,
“Hey, I’ve got a pregnant wife at home…”
little things get left
behind
that’s where love hides
when you least expect
it’s just tears over pepperoni and onions
every night you were away
i sought you out
through blackberry bramble ether
from weeping constellations above dixmyth avenue
to jessamine county barns filled with horse hay
perpetually wrapping blue ribbon around my finger
whispering vespers
my plea to the particles of the universe
to hold you together
to bring you back from oblivion
as you had done for me
you are my chosen family
inextricably part
of my thunderous heart
to which you will always hold the latchkey
i walked into our backyard and spoke
to the witch hazel tree this morning
she was the closest woman i could find
beneath a sun that decided to shine
for the first time in a week
witch hazel calms angry skin
soothes redness and inflammation
her fleshy bark turned to me as i told her our story
though she already knew the words
she had felt the earth around her roots quake as i screamed
for the baby i tried to give you who is buried perpetually at our feet
for the day i walked out on you in a restaurant
to not hurt you with my sharpened tongue
i didn’t want to lash out at you for wounds i’m still nursing
that you didn’t inflict
the way you had the nerve to follow me
and when our eyes met
you smiled because you love my damaged heart perfectly
i told the witch hazel tree all of this
her buds bloomed yellow petals for an answer
right in front of me
-i love you, James
aayoung 