Tags

,

fishing

What if I were
to accidentally write
a poem about you?

One with no
answers, mimicking
the way you ignored
my questions
as if I hadn’t
spoken.

a poem

with

huge
awkward

gaps

of

missed
understanding

It wouldn’t
be a love poem
I don’t ever want
to hear your
snarling
again

but it
wouldn’t
be a hate
poem either

if there’s one
thing I’ve learned
hate is not
the opposite
of love, it’s just
a puny little bean
curd of a word

Now that
my book of self
reflection contains
entries more vivid than

a) available
b) can sit for long
periods watching
someone fish

I can’t help
enjoying this
surge of sudden
temporary interest

your bait
and I’m sure
you know this
is way too small
and of the wrong
variety, and I will not
answer a question
you can’t find
words for

but I will
give you this
collision of a poem
set it free into the depths

somewhere
down the river
what you thought
of it, will wash up
on the bank

and like old
times, it won’t
matter anymore.

~~~

© Elaine Stirling, 2014

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