Breaking a caramel pencil taken from a box, and
Staring back up at the blinking smoke detector.
Another discouraging moment used
To avoid making a paper crane for a green-glass cup
Already overflowing, but nowhere near the thousand.
A blunt knife, a shoe lace, a love note from you to me
Written last year, does not make your cure
Or describe a dying affection.
I’m not what I do, but I am who I am
Another fancy word, another not-so-fancy occasion
Where nothing happens,
Staring at those trinkets you said meant more
Then they really did.
Maybe I’ll stop pretending not to hear
Their enslaving sounds of fear,
Your slowing breath, their awful stares
Of failure, the failure to know who you are
My failure to make just a hundred more
To make a wish
And now I’ve lost,
We’ve lost,
The race.
Notes: With the help of my dear friend Andrew King, we were able to turn this poem into a song. You can hear it at his Website for free.
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