Packing Takes Days
but who wants to say Good-Bye?
What clothes will I wear
when I see you last?
A visit–
the first in four years.
I am not who I was back then.
They haven’t changed.
A long weekend
stretched out by
stilted conversations
and uncomfortable silences.
Hugs are exchanged
as hellos and goodbyes,
impersonal and loose.
There’s nothing to hold on to
anyway.
A family reunion–
the first in four years
and maybe the last
depending on how
fate and time decide
to intertwine their hands
with chance.
A lifetime missed,
both sides to blame,
and no way to revive
something that is long dead–
if it ever even took a breath.
When you’re looking back,
don’t lean too far
down the rabbit hole,
lest you should fall in.
There’s nothing
to hold on to.
Both favor brevity.
Choose words the way
a good cook chooses
ingredients. Search
for what is fresh, flavorful.
Employ precision–
mistake tablespoon
for teaspoon of salt
and your bread won’t rise.
Use a verb too vague,
an adjective too flowery
and the air deserts your poem.
Each requires a reader
who engages, interacts.
The dish changes subtly
or greatly with each making.
The poem never reads
the same way twice.
