the broadside series
#8
Blue Fifth Review
Volume VII. Issue 6
October 2007
( Ohio )
poem
To Live Without RegretBehind me, the house is breathing even though it has no pulse. All of the clocks have stopped. I smoke an imaginary cigarette— I have no vices left; this body bores itself to death—and try to imagine what it would be like to live without regret. I would float up like a balloon inflated with helium, lost, loosed. I would touch the top and break through. Every morning, a bird sings outside my window. Every morning, this sparrow sings the same meandering tune. I used to scream: Shut up! Shut up! I used to want to throw rocks. Now, I can’t even hear that damned bird’s song. At night, I used to turn on my bedside lamp and listen to the June bugs ping the screen. I used to wonder why love couldn’t be that easy. Behind me, the house is breathing. My imaginary cigarette has killed itself. It’s time to go in and let the night be. But I can’t sleep. I’m restless. I am an ember glowing red in the dark.
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