waiting for a sign of recognition that came never
for HM
like maybe your eyes would
w i d e n slightly
or you’d touch the tips
of your fingers
to the tips
of my fingers
your breathing would get a little
shallower
a little
faster
instead you came in the door
threw your coat over the chair
went straight up to the bedroom
while I stood
beside the table
match in one hand
matchbox in the other
the tangy smell of phosphorus
lingering in the dining room
the food already cooling
the wine unpoured
21 September 2012
on a bus from NYC
to Jackson, MS
/ / /
This title of this poem was inspired by a tweet from the writer Hannah Miet. Learn more about her at hannahmiet.com and follow her on Twitter on @hannahmiet.
Comments