The poets sits at the table with a different voice
for once not staring blankly at the floor.
She found some leftover words
lurking about in her back pocket.
Four days ago she thought she’d run out of time.
She thought that all the time in the world would not be enough.
She desperately wanted to let you go,
but you had already made other plans.
Much like Hemingway, poets just sit and bleed,
but not this one,
this one would rather run out of time
than let life unfold.
She was all too familiar with her increasing obsession
with Divine intervention.
Even when her rhymes came in halves,
this particular poet had somewhat of a knack
for pretending… to be God after midnight.
Three days ago she had carefully considered
drowning her thoughts in a pond, á la Sylvia Plath,
but time had other plans.
Her head is tired this morning,
she is trying to tell you a story,
she wrote to you about love every day,
you had “a moment of weakness”
you had no kindness
and decided to not make any time,
some would say… “you might kill her with silence”.
And then time did what it does best,
time decided to surprise her…
when she expected it least,
as it usually happens.
She deeply fell for the words of another,
she found herself telling him most of her secret stories
with ease, without rehearsed pauses…
Like she would usually do, she would save the best for last,
or something along those lines.
Just look at her now, sat on a comfy chair at the back,
she has a different kind of smile on her face
inquisitive, tender, mysterious and of a different shape,
maybe all she needed was to find another writer…
In any case, it looks like she found him.
Her thoughts are lose, her mind is vague,
she hasn’t really had any sleep in about four days,
six years ago she would have embraced it
she would have decided to play at being Rimbaud,
but right now, none of it matters.
She is tired, her mind is lose, her thoughts are vague
her words are lost and short,
but he was worth staying up through the night for
and waking up with him by her side.
Just look at her with a different kind of smile.
Oriana Ascanio, January 16th 2013