mypoeticsite
for the reader who will not stay
For the Reader Who Will Not Stay
(after a list of three truths)
I have pared the bread
to a single crumb,
so it will not weary your jaw.
I have drained the wine
to a thimble‑swallow,
so it will not cloud your head.
I have locked the third door
and pocketed the key,
for I know how you hate to find
yourself in a room you did not expect.
You prefer the garden gate:
open, low‑hinged,
a path you can stroll
in your lunch hour.
You prefer roses already cut,
vase‑ready, no thorns
to coax your blood.
Still— in the rafters of the stanza,
I hang small bells, and in the mortar
between these plain bricks
I press a coin, face down.
It will tarnish there, waiting
for the one pair of eyes
who sees that the wall is hollow.
.
poetry's reply
"poetry's reply"
I hear your ants —
their soft feet tapping the inside of my skull,
counting the cracks.
Truth is only the name we give
to the lie we can stand beside without choking.
The ballroom is empty now,
but the gown keeps swaying in a draft
no one admits is there.
In the folds of my palm,
a match, unlit —
enough to promise warmth
but not enough to scare the dark.
And still, I say,
Love you —
not as an answer,
but as a rope tossed into the air
for both of us to catch.
.
.