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Brand New
Every dress she wore
had a hole in it. She used to sew
but they always came apart,
she was never as good as
her grandmother. Now it is
a stand she takes
to break down
the hold he has on her waist
on her tight fitting dress,
she refuses to make it
brand new
preferring the tattered one
for it is the perfect shade of black
she paid five-hundred dollars
and still has the receipt.
It never fades. Everyone knows
she loves that dress,
but his jacket covers her moles.
He could buy her more,
but having names on her ass
means nothing to her
if it is not poetry.
She believed in old hockey cards,
the ones she found in his attic,
The Rocket
close to his heart,
she competed with dead hockey players,
he competed with dead poets.
She found his hockey skates
in a crate dated 1977
an expo hat that his uncle
from Greece left behind
in a rush to get back to the olive trees.
He found nothing of hers
ever
this pained her
this idea that he would discover her soul
in death,
this burial of all her poems
only to be unearthed by him.
If only she had driven him that night,
he would be here
reading her words
and not under the frozen earth
and she using words like
Forever
Always
and meaning them.
Comments:
11
Beautiful and tragic, and the quote too.
Thanks, conjuring up some Greek spirits. 🙂
Like words of truth written on my soul. You have a way of nostalgic longing..it makes me want to read old love letters. ♡ beautiful.
You have! ❤
thelighteningandthefire.wordpress.com/2016/01/08/my-unknowing-muse/
Muses are overrated
Beautiful Chrissy. My dear muses are not overrated. You are the perfect one.
❤️
Reblogged this on Christina Strigas .
Such fabulous writing; you have an uncanny gift of reaching into someone’s heart strings and play upon them; so many moods, colours and depth of emotions always writing from your soul.Ron
Ron, thank you so much for that, I feel blessed to reach so many people and who connect to my word, who woulda thunk? lol