Clocked out and driving home,
radio loud enough for a silent street.
I can still feel your hands and your
forehead, leaned against my shoulder
to laugh. We do this every night,
four days a week, until the next one
rolls around, fighting it
both tooth and nail like two people
who know they don’t need each other…
but the want is still
there….lingering…
secrets have been kept inside
a leather journal
now made known to all the world
feelings stood the test of time
life’s many seasons
shared with you through poetry
People have said for years
That books are a way to escape.
Unless they have truly had the need
They really don’t know how escape
Can be a life saver. A brain saver.
A way of managing what is impossible
For some. Some just sink into madness
Reading allowed her brain to protect
Her from disappearing
Kind of a shield to deflect
Arrows of bullying
Sarcasm and pounding
“You were never abused” they said.
“You had everything you ever wanted.”
“To say that you are sad is a lie.”
Oh, she thought. It felt like sadness.
All month now
you’ve been texting me
‘I miss you’ messages on my Viber.
Every night
you’ve been telling me
you are sad.
Isn’t that a lesson
someone your age
must have learned by now? –
You don’t miss people,
or anything else:
you carry everything you love
with you.
I doubt
whether I myself
have learned that lesson well –
I hope I have –
but just in case
I don’t reply.
Zlatna Kostova
Technically, you’re entering
a treacherous inlet.
A daily ferry of baskets.
(You are a basket.)
There is a child onboard
with his own lines
to catch and release.
The pace of ocean
at Kill Devil Hills;
cobia and kings, red drum,
the occasional croaker.
Come prepared for it.
