Stains

I tried to read other poems tonight
but they all sounded like you and
I can’t let them steal your voice tonight.

There’s a you-shaped hole in my gut
& the feeling doesn’t lend itself
to another pretty love poem.
It’s far from glamorous, or
lilting, or nestled in calm.

I didn’t want to love you.
I never wanted to hear you
in someone else’s love poem.

The tears are hot now, and heavy,
they come unbidden and I can’t
even remember where they’re from.

I find this oddly comforting.
~1/11/12

Housing Shortage

I tried to live small.
I took a narrow bed.
I held my elbows to my sides.
I tried to step carefully
And to think softly
And to breathe shallowly
In my portion of air
And to disturb no one.

Yet see how I spread out and I cannot help it.
I take to myself more and more, and I take nothing
That I do not need, but my needs grow like weeds,
All over and invading; I clutter this place
With all the apparatus of living.
You stumble over it daily.

And then my lungs take their fill.
And then you gasp for air.
Excuse me for living,
But, since I am living,
Given inches, I take yards,
Taking yards, dream of miles,
And a landscape, unbounded
And vast in abandon.

You too dreaming the same.

Naomi Replansky

Thoughts, and such

I’ve got pieces of words strung together that might make poetry someday, but at this point, aren’t quite there yet.

And my mind is swimming with things I think and will not say.

Sorry about that.

Gimme a bit.

Be right back.

Promise.