Will you miss me?
Some days I manage not to be a
poet.
In fact, some days manage me
So far away from poetry
I think I've reached a static
state.
Therefore, I know it can be
done.
You will come home happily to
Find me cooking the food.
My hair will be smooth, my
face bright
Like a blank sheet of paper
Waiting for your kiss, your
day's
Experience to be written upon
it.
The house will blind you with
its shine.
You will find no scraps of
recorded thoughts,
No stones, petals or curled
leaves
That hold the images of a
dozen poems.
And even if a day may come
when the sun
Casts strange, blue edged
shadows on the lake,
The wind snags a new note or
carries back
Some old, old sound I had
forgot,
I will turn my eyes and ears
away
… be chauffeur, housemaid,
nursemaid,
mistress……. Be your good
wife.
I will not clutter your life
With sharp pronged, faceted
fragments
Of whoever I might have been.
I will pour my love into the
lives
Of our children
And ignore the enchanted,
unclaimed child
Tapping forever at my window,
Ignore slant rays,
Stare at the sun until I am
blind
To the difference of days, of
selves….
Be your simple woman, your
mirror….
My back held hard against the
Poem,
Will you ever miss me?
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