Spill

I have been a little quiet.

After the news that my old colleague from years ago was dying of brain cancer, just over a week ago one of the regulars at the poetry night I go to died. Then last Tuesday the wife of my closest work colleague (we are only a small firm with half a dozen staff) got up, collapsed and died too, out of the blue. Massive brain hemorrhage. I have struggled to feel particularly creative since.

 

As a fallback, here’s another Addonizio poem I really like. You may be getting a few of these 🙂

Spill

You turn away. I remember again
the first time you turned toward me,
knocking over your glass.
We sat at a table, getting drunk.

The first time you turned toward me
I knew this moment would come:
two people getting drunk at a table,
getting it over with. And though

I knew this moment would come
I couldn’t help kissing you,
getting it over with, although
we might have stayed friends, otherwise;

but I couldn’t help kissing you,
starting things up—the hasty undressing, the love
we might have kept as friends, if we were wise.
Now, stupidly, we’ve come to the end.

Starting things up was hasty, love.
Knocking over your glass
I stare stupidly. We’ve come to the end.
You turn away. I remember again.

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