You're right, I was here.
The cats let me in, they are as untrustworthy
as a broken elevator.
You're right, I had hidden
pieces of myself, like a nightbird's nest
right under your nose.
Sorry about the fire department.
Sorry about my dual nature, always waving my arms
for balance like a drunken signalman.
You know that they burn
saints and witches alike, and me most of all,
but thieves stole the taps
And you just sat there,
like Buddha of the first editions, plastered in poetry,
a wall unto yourself.
You're right, I meant me
but the cats advised me to say you, over and over
begging to be let in
then out
then in
just like them.
The firemen saved them--
the cats, the other tenants, the stairwells and stars.
Me? I died in the fire I had set because I was in pain,
did not know how to end things,
and you were not there to get that blasé look on your face
and put me out.
________________
for Sunday Muse #261.
top image created with Bing A.I.
Your poetry has a way of sticking with the reader like a beautiful kiss one cannot forget, even when it speaks of what others choose to ignore. A magnificent poem to end the Muse with Shay! Your presence here has been nothing less than inspiring my friend! Thank you!
ReplyDeleteMoved to, you know, tears in my eyes.
ReplyDeleteSo much under the ashy surface here, Shay ... what an incredible way to end the Muse.
ReplyDeleteOh my goodness. This is such amazing writing, no words suffice. Brilliant. Reminds me of someone i know close by who is decombusting right now. The cats in the poem are the perfect device for this story. Wow.
ReplyDeleteAh, Shay. Who hasn't longed for someone to be the fireman, to save, to solve, to pull us from our burning buildings. To do what we can't. But the blase stare, the treacherous cats, remind us it is never that simple. So many stellar lines, but perhaps my favorite is "a wall unto yourself.." Vivid metaphors, devastating adjectives, and a poetry only you can make take this one skyward, as the acrid charcoal of our burned relics smokes behind us.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful poem on which to end the Sunday Muse, one of such depths ❤️
ReplyDeleteI love this. The way you move so seamlessly from the wry humor of the unreliable cats like a broken elevator to that devastating last stanza is so good
ReplyDeleteI always admire a story poem as they are rich with details. There is something powerful about plastered in poetry. Drinking in each noun, verb and whatever else is handy to quench this never-ending thirst.
ReplyDeleteYour poems always tell such powerful complete tales of all the lives this fascinating woman lived. Love the voice in this one, love those cats, and how this guy was just Buddha first edition, plastered in poetry. Fantastic.
ReplyDeleteThere is nothing worse than when the person we count on to care meets our distress with indifference. *signs up for Shay's metaphor class* Amazing, as always.
ReplyDelete