Verse Exercises

A portfolio for her verses

Grief in Seven Cutscenes

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Enter woman.

Scene 1.
Mother phoned me to say how sorry things were.
She wanted me to fly over.
Come home.
I scanned the rows of plastic and cellophane, hating the smell of synthetic that has always provoked my asthma.
I talked about the asthma I could feel coming.
She knew I would not come home.

Scene 2.
I carry you in my coat pocket, in a zip lock bag I bought at the corner store two weeks past.
I pried the plastic open.
I clenched my fist but you slipped through.

Scene 3.
You said, I want to become the air you breathe.
Too long ago, how can I even remember?

But I thought against doing as you asked.
I cannot hold the wind.
I cannot run after your dust.
I can only breathe.

Scene 4.
Tomorrow, I will drive to the sea and carry you waist deep before the lapping quiet ocean.
Where am I casting you to
In this world bereft of corners?

Scene 5.
Sometimes I am not myself.
This morning I sat there gazing out the window like you used to.
You always smiled when you looked out like that.
I saw myself staring puzzled at the glass, sitting before a bowl of cereal and an open novel.
Looking for you.
I was not myself.
I wanted to smile as you smiled sitting there like that.
But I could not find your shadow in the glass.

Scene 6.
When I strain, I can hear the walls echo your laughter.
I am glad we lived so quietly.
If I sit still, I can breathe you.
But there are other things that cannot help be missed.
Holding your hand, I miss holding your hand.

Scene 7.
This very morning I fished beneath the covers seeking your hand.


This verse has been previously called I carry you and On the death of a lover

October 14, 2008
November 14, 2010
December 2, 2010
January 6, 2010
January 8, 2010
July 21, 2012


Written by thedoe

December 2, 2010 at 2:47 am

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