1 to wander without purpose
2 a vagrant, itinerant
Garooning in a deserted wheat field,
kicking a stone,
hoping it would become irrelevant.
Waiting for the night to come,
and for the sky to fall on your head.
Buying time, breath by breath,
hoping you’d forget
the real reason you are here.
Close your eyes, smell your own scent in the air,
give yourself a chance:
to forgive and forget, to flourish, be fed.
Fill your pockets with the rain
that drizzled from her lower hip,
that challenged your upper lip,
that interrupted your kip…
in the form of a nightmare.
That which took away all that you keep:
your emergency truffle,
that spare pen,
and the extra tissue
on your top right lapel.
Don’t let her go.
Don’t let her run away.
She made you happy,
before she threw it all away
In a reminiscent nervous breakdown,
underneath her bushy hair and crowded hat.
You also made a mistake,
you fed her too quickly,
you burnt the bacon,
you covered her ears with your hands,
and then you asked her to love you
in your own voice.
The one she never knew,
the one she didn’t get to know,
the one that kept her quiet in the night
whilst you garooned amidst the fields.
Somewhere wet and far away,
her womb is full of weeds
deeply sunk underneath a pontoon
full of algae,
and of water lilies,
and of muddy sand,
and of all the things no one will get to rediscover.
There they are now buried,
And you happen to have lost the treasure map.
Oriana Ascanio, December 3rd 2012