Intent on a clutter of college ruled, absorbed in ink and smudges of thought, I never noticed her in the doorway, hopeful in a hopeless red dress- write this down, she said; write this down so you'll listen, so you'll hear what I got to say the same way I hear you when you put in words the flat of this dismal sky; it makes me feel damp on my skin, taste lonely at the back of my throat and I know you think I don't know much about words, or just how them words make you happy when nothing else can, but I understand well enough, I get it when I read "nothing grows here but water" so write this down, and listen: I want to live out loud; I want to be more than what I am, I want to sit in one of them outside cafe's sipping mint juleps like ladies do in Atlanta; I want to wear my hair up in curls, silk on my back, smell anything besides magnolia and tobacco and dirt- I need to tell my daddy that the best look at God is from hell, not a pulpit and I need to let my momma see what she closed her eyes to at night; I need to learn how to cry and remember that tears is just so much salty water. I have to chip out what's been covered in stone. I want to read on them pages someday that maybe I was special; that you noticed how I held you, your sap still on my hands, while you twisted uneasy in sleep. Let me see it put down that you thought I was pretty, hair the color of honey off the comb, skin like butter. Paint me in a poem that will find its way out of here- She caught her breath with a hitch, a sound so small that I bent to catch it. Her fingers fluttered, familiar against her neck; she turned, walked away without another word- her gardenia talc lingered long after she'd gone. http://tattoosinblue.blogspot.com
Wow! This is one of the best poems I have read in a long time. Your style is exquisite, expression concise and elegant. I loved it!
