Poetica Hiaticus Soberum (A Sobering Hiatus from Poetry)

Used to wake waiting to hear her voice console
the dead a few years piled, to translate ghosts
to native tongues.  They come carrying trinkets
of what’s been lost & she their guide reminded

the landmarks of their lives.  Then we lost touch.
Dead in broken sentences fumble some remembered
moment but without her perfect ear for emphasis
their words fizz & whirr like static.  I’ve lied to you.

Last autumn we broke our deal, broke from singing
she allowed so casual, like a lover who steps nude
from the bathroom without giving one startled glance.
She left knowing my mind isn’t wise enough to learn

the brutal language of the dead.  She knows I love her.
Two years pass as silent punishment.  She doesn’t care.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under munsterman, poem a day

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s