Speechless
I step into the familiar darkness
I pay too much for a cafe mocha
and a bag of yogurt-covered pretzels
I realize that I have memorized the graffiti
scrawled on "our" table.
There is a drawing of a woman
whose face is perpetually twisted with grief
a cartoon word bubble springs from her mouth
but contains no words.
Every time we meet here,
I'm always a little surprised
when you actually show up.
I find myself licking my lips in anticipation,
I find it's hard to breathe.
You have a way of choking me
by making me hang on your every word
You have a way of hurting me
by breaking the promises you never made.
You convince me to share my pretzels, and my pain.
I give you my suffering, and you call it a poem,
and you think of me as a work in progress.
I'd like to
move beyond the paint-chipped off-white walls
of our dingy, dimly-lit coffeehouse,
our unsubtle innuendos,
my anxiety and idealistic devotion,
my naive idea of love as self-sacrifice,
our melted mess of yogurt-covered pretzels
But here I am, still bound to this familiar structure
still sitting awkwardly at the graffiti-covered table
where I am always waiting for you.
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This poem was published in WORD RIOT in May 2008.
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