upon Waking ~ the ghost of Love

Ten thousand things
Left done and undone
The tea steams

The Angel is watching one of those hideous
Cat clocks
Where the tail is the pendulum
And the eyes shift back
And forth
Back
And forth
Back
And forth
It seemed like such a good idea at the time

The wane light of a coming day
barely wins a fight with the sheer curtains
Over the breakfast nook

She lift her instrument of self torture
She lifts the pen
Touches it to the journal . . .
The nib skips a bit
Then bites the page

She writes
“I am alone,
Poetry is not warm
with flesh
nor touch,”

She throws the pen down
Goes to the freezer and gets a frozen bagel
One of those real ones
Not the store bought . . .
A free range bagel

She separates the halves and pops them
Into a toaster

She returns to the journal
“Poetry is a cruel
Lover,
cold with words
and meanings,
we are alone
together
all through the night,
neither one
waking up
to a Lover’s kiss”

She wants to sigh
But shutters
Where is he?
Damn
He is so unreliable
Left a message on her cell last night
Which is totally weird
Because he doesn’t actually exist . . .”

She thinks about calling her friend
In Cleveland
She lifts the pen again
“I pour hot water for green tea
and gather my defenses
around me like my warmest
robe on a cold November morning
in Ohio ,”

Silent in a silent house
She cries

“start writing these embryos of loneliness
at 5:00 in the morning,
warming up to one another.

I drink my little ceremonies,
never read the leaves.”

She lays down the pen
Her ghost lover doesn’t show again
She shouts to no one in particular
“Bastard!
Why won’t you materialize?
We all need to be touched!
You’re just a voice
And while you say some very pretty words
I need . . . “
She weeps fully this time
No holding back
“Bastard . . . (no conviction this time)
I need the poet
But I need the man
Why can’t you be both . . .
Just once
I would trade . . . “

What?
What would she trade?
Unseen
The steam curls up
Takes on the form of a man
Reaches for her
Dissipates . . .

She looks for her keys

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

4 thoughts on “upon Waking ~ the ghost of Love”

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