Monday, January 28, 2013

a broken heart

she scattered the letters across the table
in a way
it used to drive me crazy
She used to leave the change
splayed out across the table
in a way that drove me crazy
she used to leave all the doors open
but even the air in the house
mourns her
so I don't close them
because if I moved the letters,
the tears would come again,
burning hot and angry, 
and if I used the change
whatever I bought would end up in the trash
and if I took all the kale out of the fridge,
I'd end up
buying more
just to remind me of her
so I slouch through open doors
and cook at a penny scattered table
and stare at rotting kale
the air from the fridge, cold,
feels like my heart
and right then it cracks
so through modern life
one would wonder
there is no cure for
a broken heart

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