I never speak of you, usually

This took 4 years to finally write what I wanted to write all that time, in a clear-headed way. It's all true. God, it hurt. Now, I'll hush.

The last time I truly saw you, I was huddled under a thunderous sky,
thumb out, hitching back to Pukekohe to get away.

You let me go. You let me be a fool, another wanderer wondering
about what-could-have-beens translated to tumbling leaves on the highway.

And now, four years on, I thank you; I know you're in England somewhere,
working your a*s off like you always did, travelling with a new man.

He adores you, I know. He takes cares of your every whim, unlike me,
a narcissistic, sedentary poet, too caught up in the complexities of maudlin life.

Take back this thunderous sky I called upon. Take back the four years of straining
to find another artist like you; but you gave all of that up when the fires died.

I was fifteen; you, seventeen. We were Zeus and Hera, Romeo and Juliet.
No passionate wild love like this could ever endure past seven years, I don't think.

Why grow old with the niggly feeling you may have had of children on your lap
by now? Why steam and fret over a collision of souls meant for different pastures?

The last time I saw you, I flung dinnerware and tables off of the balcony.
I was a selfish boy, a belligerent boy. I had to grow up.

Reviews

[Lauren Xena Campbell]

There is a lot said here and I think it is great that you have finally said what you needed to, no matter how long it has taken. I realise relationships take work, I have had a couple myself, all of them have ended badly, and after the end I always wondered, was it good that I got out or have I lost something wonderful? I guess none of us will never truly know the answer to that until the day the story books turn to reality and we get our own happy endings. I loved the tone of this piece, cut down the middle, the confusion and contrast in thoughts. "You let me go. You let me be a fool" I really enjoyed this poem and it has made me think a lot about my own situation. Thank you for sharing this, it is deep and wonderfully beautiful and honest, glad you finally found the words.

[J. Hampton]

This has an entirely different ....vulnerability to it...
an open-handed hindsight.....

the sign....of a powerful man....one that can look back and recount what he really sees

there is always one.... spirit that touches our lives for a season that simply cannot leave us alone in our quie time

scampering through our peace like an unseen startled doe.

:::: THESE ::: - are those who make us grow...and prepare us to be "that-man"
or woman...

Blessssssssssssssssss

[Hedra Helix]

awesome. thank you for sharing with us. its like you restrained yourself too, and kept to truth rather than employing your prowess with word and sound to alter what you gave. I respect that. the hurt the love the joy the intensity the loss and the self truth shone clean. I dig. Ive been both of you in my own roles and you made the wounds feel fresh.
Wow man, that was the most touched and connected to write/author I've felt on here in awhile.

thank you for my very own time machine thru your past.

[Shara Faskowitz]

This is lovely! The images are so vivid that I felt like a fly on the wall, witnessing passion, distance and regret. The only suggestion I have is in this strophe:

I was fifteen; you, seventeen. We were Zeus and Hera, Romeo and Juliet.
No passionate wild love like this could ever endure past seven years, I don't think.

I think that second line would pack more punch if you made it a question: "...past seven years, could it?" Just a thought. I'm glad I came and read this; it's really good!

[E. M. Murren]

I think I have the same reaction after every one of your poems... wow. LOL You express so much in these words. Passion, anger, regret. Fabulous work.

[Rachel Eisenberg]

I feel.. ambivalent about passion, I think. It's very stark and explosive, but it's hard to keep going. Fighting will die down. Flames will extinguish themselves.

"The last time I saw you, I flung dinnerware and tables off of the balcony.
I was a selfish boy, a belligerent boy. I had to grow up."

((weird; there's a points system on here?? how strange))

Anyway, this is a great place to end, which you always manage to pull off. I don't know you in the real world, but it seems unnatural to think of you flinging stuff off of balconies. You, with this older woman. You, thinking about babies and England and this tragedy the two of you wrote.

At first, I didn't like the line breaks; upon first glance, it seems too open and broken-up. But now... I like it. It works well (me with my clumps of words barely resembling incoherent thoughts, let alone full-on sentences. what structure!).

This is indeed very clear-headed. Mourning this woman and your relationship together (or the ending, rather) just as much as it's thanking her. I think it was worth the wait to write.

[Emily B]

Sometimes it takes years for these things to be said in the right way. I think you've done the job beautifully. I like the quiet conversational quality of these words. The conspirational once upon a time feel.