Geometric Rooms by Esther Stocker
Phones, the post-modern frontal lobe
I deleted everything from it related to you
except for one voice message, the last one
it reminds me why it was worth all the fuss.
The events and rhythms of a season long revered
bring forth tiding and a sweet nostalgia for
remedy and restoration.
The things that occured to me last night included:
A.) I’d rather not be here
B.) Other superficial things I’d rather not say.
Us women enjoy the ability to jump to conclusions. It’s simple mental storyboarding of an alternate reality based on the perfections we’d prefer to see in any given scenario.
And I’d rather take on the failures of others
than become aware of my own.
but failures and heartbreak
like achievements and love
are badges worn with pride
war wounds defining our identity –
milestones to which we measure growth.
my dream of you in Boston, C
I couldn’t please you
I was never enough.
Only a fool pursues weapons that self-inflict.
it never occurred to us how tough it is
how negative and brusing
tender pieces of fruit are rarely sold
but mornings never mind.
When I was ready to leave
you were here, in my heart
I’m proud of the admittance
of a blissful ignorance in a slighted world.
A is for antidote
B is for benediction
C is for cost