Piles
Everywhere.
Piles.
Everywhere.
Clutter.
But… nowhere is you.
Clutter left.
Wasnt just that to you.
So now it’s mine.
I thought the piles were here
Because I was taking “care of you.”
No time
No time to take care of my shit…
When really there was no time left
With
You
And still…
Here the piles sit. Worse than ever.
I don’t care to move.
No motivation to complete…
My shit… sits. In piles.
Where now I have your shit…
Because it’s not shit at all.
It’s all I have left of you.
And
I want to carry it…
It represents you.
It’s all I have left
Of you.
So. Here it all sits.
Yet he doesn’t.
And here I sit, surrounded
With almosts…
Well, perhaps what “just was”
6 thoughts on "Piles"
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I kind of stammered with “nowhere is you” which I appreciate. It both sets the reader off a bit and exhales an original pathos into the poem. Which gets at this idea that moves through the rest: shit. Shit used here in different ways. My shit, your shit, each with their own value depending on who is doing the naming. But isn’t it really interesting that nowhere in this poem is there an “our shit”? To me, what sings loudest is this absence.
Wow. A beautiful recognition that I may not have recognized myself. Thank you.
This line …. “And here I sit, surrounded / With almosts” really sums it up for me. Nicely rendered balance of anger, sadness and resignation.
Yes. All those feelings.
Your poetry is your healing, suffering, even piles of words that you shift through…
<3
Love this notion! Thank you.