With Shovels and Bricks
I never thought I was fluent
In getting better
Lemon water and clothes hanging to dry
Just in time, but
This wrinkled cotton duvet, signs of adulthood
Mixed with tragedy, cool against my unmarked arms
Says something different
Here is something that’s true:
We were in love and I forgot
My heart breaking like confetti, pull the edges
Take the crown and I’ll keep
The bad joke
A spiral that goes up
Is still a spiral circling, bird-like
wingtips tapping
A beat with which the fear
Had nothing to do
The shadows are getting longer
So are the days—a cat stretching on the sill
Black hair glinting brown in sudden sunshine
Thinking: we are not our tragedies, an emergency
Is a collision with a doorframe
Walk through
True of heart and best foot forward
Don’t worry; you are the hero
Of this story
I packed a bag, essentials
Waxy fingertips and worn canvas
All the things that once made up a life
I could count on, down from five
Until zero
Coffeemaker gurgles and spits
Grounds and grit, a point of completed pattern
In static motion and slices of pie
Turns out, heaven was at capacity
So I went on home
Here is something that’s true:
The happy ending never comes
In the middle of the story
Slow down, listen between the stations
And stops
Forget the jagged pieces fitting together
You’re already here.
This poem inspired by the work of Buddy Wakefield.
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