poem: If it Were That Simple

If it were that simple-

     I would write "I'm Sorry"

  by rearranging constellations

           to spell those letters

        across the night sky

             itself.

 

I cannot, because

    you do not exist.

 

but this is how the heart implodes,

        under its own

     internal pressure-

        just like the dying star,

    that has collapsed.

 

Can you not see?

    Your story is your story

  but the parts connected

    at the right atrium

        are my story, too.

 

I guess I only ever wanted

    to merely exist

        in your space;

      even as much as I

 fervently wished

     you would,

some day

     materialize

            in mine.

 

I was never ashamed

    that I once looked

 for messages written

         in stars

   with one such as you.

 

From behind the nebula

    covering the space

  that once held my heart-

 

I am sorry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Through the Gateway]

How do we apologize for those who no longer want us in their lives? It is very easy to wonder if the past even ever existed; the sweetness of that past seems somehow a fantasy we held in our minds.

This poem is filled with the pain and longing to have just that last word of apology heard. Even in its brevity, it has some good iconography within the stars and your heart.

My only critique is that the second stanza seems backwards to me. I would personally feel that you are not allowed to exist, not that the other doesn't exist. This may be subjective, though, so I would perhaps chalk it up to a difference in style.

I read. I acknowledge. I hold.

[Marie Anzalone]

I respectfully disagree, Lonestar. What recourse does one have to explore their own feelings about a person, if that person wants desperately to erase his chapter from your life? So desperately, so wrapped in shame, that breathing admittance of it would destroy the fragile foundation upon which an entire friendsip rests? I was supposed to wrap all of my emotions into a neat little bundle, put on my best smile, and walk forward as if nothing had happened.. because he willed himself to not exist in my life. I have no right to my feelings, or a right to talk about them, because he does not exist. What is denied is therefore as bad as myself not being allowed to exist- an important part of my identity, a part that has been alternately inspired and hurt and supported and destroyed and remade. If soemone wants to learn from a love situation, and move forward as a wiser person, they need permission to examine all of their relations.

I struggled with that portion of it, and chose the wording for impact, and because I felt it was the better choice of words for evincing what I was trying to say.

I appreciate your insight and reviews and yes, your professional critique. It is nice to see you back on site. I think you may find that your voice has been missed more than you might think.

[Through the Gateway]

Thanks. I'll believe it when I see it, though. ;)

Like I said...I think it's more a difference in style. Time may prove me wrong, though. It's still a good piece.

LS

[Marie Anzalone]

I just had a thoughtful review of my newest one... the one that ripped my heart out to write. About my consideration of posting a disturbing video of human cruelty that inspired the poem. The reviewer was in disagreement with me, and had some very valid points. He talked about how the message would be lost on most viewers. My consideration of the truth of his words, was, "it depends on whose story one sees when they watch." I feel the same way, to a far lesser extent, here: the point of view depends on whose story you are focusing on. Mine or his. I am not sure I even know which version prodcues which effect, though.

And yes, I hold by what I said about you. Your voice is missed. I know you wrote today. I encourage you to share it.

[Tree]

This piece vibrated with an energy, like when you try to hold someone who is shivering in the cold. Or the bone jarring sting after getting struck by the blunt end of unrealized potential. It reverberates. I don't know why I read it that way, maybe because I've known that feeling. A moving write. A shot across the bow of a ship teetering from the weight of a broken dream.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks for the review on this. If you felt the energy of the narrator shivering with a bone-jarring cold- you sensed correctly the emotion behind it. Dreams are funny things. Even when they are unrealistic, and sink like stones when laden down too far with reality, they still want to be acknowledged. That is what makes them dangerous. I was describing here a situation that hurt for too much and too long because it could not be acknowledged. How does one walk around with a heart broken on the inside, with no recourse to discuss it or heal it or even let it show on the outside? I fear in the end all the apology is for was the hubris of being human, of thinking that situation was even ever sustainable. That one could will their way through 2 years of sustained heartbreak and never want to unburden themselves of that grief.

I lost two close friends yesterday, one to a car accident, one to something far worse.

[I, Rene]

All things I would have said given I had a tongue and a leg to stand with, beautifully expressed.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, Rene, for your kind words on this. I was going for beauty and gentleness and compassion in an apology for soemthign I am not sure I even need to apologize for. I also hopped on over to your page earlier today, filed some stuff away for thought, etc. I was not unimpressed by what I read there, so do not be too harsh on yourself. Your words stand alone just fine as they are.

[I, Rene]

Thank you Marie