Saint-Laurent

I walked with my turquoise stone

in the tiny pocket of my purse

for good luck, the witch said.

I sat at that cafe and you never showed up

I thought perhaps it was the needy poem

of fluff I left in your backpack

when you were looking at that other girl

with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

He will wait for you, the palm reader said.

It was a cafe where they played old movies

you said, Scarface is playing,

and recited the lines like poetry.

I am impressed with the oddest sentences

the ones most hate, the ones they can never

grasp with a one time read.

I wrote this for you, he said, but don’t read 

it in front of me. I sat on my bed and unfolded it

gently, slowly, prolonging the anticipation

like a perfect orgasm.

I read it about ten times until the words

remained memorized in my mind

for days, weeks, years

even now I could recite them.

Would you like another refill? 

I stared at the cute waitress and said,

Non, la facture s.v.p

At that time, there were no phones

to stare into to pretend you were

not stood up by the love of your life.

At that time, I stared at the empty

chair and cried inside for the

injustice of not being loved

enough, for being just another

girl

in his long days of bliss.

I missed his funeral

and every time I walk by that cafe

on Saint-Laurent that turned into a second

hand book store, that turned into a lounge,

that turned into a boutique,

that turned into Second Cup

I recite his poem

in my head like a mantra

and nothing ever changes

ever.

 

 

 

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17 comments

  1. jcnashpoems · February 8, 2016

    So sad xx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Heartafire · February 8, 2016

    A sad love story, beautifully expressed!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. laurelwolfelives · February 8, 2016

    Heartbreaking. 😦

    Liked by 1 person

  4. megdekorne · February 8, 2016

    ” that turned into , that turned into , that turned into ” …Chrissy ,your poet soul so mournfully touches …beautiful ! love , megxxx

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Eric · February 9, 2016

    I swear my mind tells me I should wear a bullet proof vest when I come here…but where is the fun in that. Wounded but very much enraptured by your words, Poetess. Love you and this. ♡

    Liked by 1 person

    • Chrissy · February 9, 2016

      I love that. Bullet proof vest, as if that would stop us from feeling. I wish I could wear one of those and walk unscathed. Much love and respect to you too Eric xo
      Chrissy x

      Liked by 1 person

  6. thelonelyauthorblog · February 10, 2016

    Beautiful and so sad.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Chrissy · April 21, 2016

    Reblogged this on Christina Strigas .

    Like

  8. Lively Life · April 21, 2016

    wow

    Liked by 1 person

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