Thanks for the review. I was really trying to stick to one perspective of the story with this piece.
Poetry / She Looked The Same ....
“I looked at her,
And she looked the same,
As she always had”
What had changed?
Years of married suburban life,
At some point . . . someone,
For some reason . . .
I can’t understand,
Stopped . . . touching
How did it begin
That begging of the end?
I feel as though
We’ve been in the dénouement
For years . . .
Was it me? . . . Was it her?
The touching . . .
Its one of those things best remembered
When reciprocated . . .
Like a dime store romance
“He grabbed her body and embraced her,
She raised her head,
Brushed her fingertips across his lips”
I can’t remember . . .
The last time she ever looked at me,
In that raw kind of way
With half close eyes pouring tears of passion
To mingled with our steaming sweat . . .
Really it’s the words I miss most of all
The stupid endearments that fade away . . .
We became one of “those” couples
Who in our hurry to the office,
Only glanced at the park full of children,
Dogs, happy families, lovesick picnicking,
We thought only fleetingly
Of the honeymoon
I worked too much,
Paper piles grew despite my diligent,
She flew often to other countries
Gone for weeks
Hammer in hand to break the glass ceiling,
On her way up up up . . .
While I stayed glued to the ground, shrugging,
Struggling to shuffling my feet,
Haunting happy hours, and after hours
Where I knew I would not find happiness
But I played the game, at some point
We all play the game, you would too ya know
Living the life of a lie,
Alls well, Alls well, Alls well Here in Hell
Then
One morning,
That rare hour when we awoke
Still lying next to one another,
Separate cocoons in a bed unused to two
We arose to complete our
Solitary morning routine,
She carted her body in silence,
As if she was the only one,
My presence just the necessary invasion
Like a maid in one of those four star
London or Parisian hotels
The ones I could never afford
But her company always paid for,
Million of miles and years away,
Always claimed she was alone.
At the table,
I sat clutching my coffee,
Contemplating a bagel,
She grabbed dry toast,
Orange juice, and keys
Rushing for the door,
As if she had some reason to run,
Some awful thing to escape
Or maybe just something better waiting
I called out to her…
“So, Hon, How’s your week been?”
Two clipped word were all she answered,
“Fine, yours”
With out awaiting a response
She started the car,
Peeled out of the driveway.
Well, what can you expect from a stranger?
Submits to lie near you a week total out of a month,
Always . . . neatly on her own side,
As if there were bars separating his and hers.
When a man in his crisp Brooks Brothers suit
With a mask of detachment etched in his features
Approached me at lunch hour I was not surprised,
Except that it had taken this long for him to contact me.
He handed me a expensive pen
Oily with the essence of sorrow and bitterness,
I clutched on tight to keep it from slipping
As I signed the soulless legal document,
Accepting the unavoidable.
Back in my cube, I refused to weep,
My lack tears were the only things . . .
Saving me from dehydration,
Despair had long since passed, years ago.
When I finally looked up, I saw her picture
Sitting in the shrine I’d appointed to her
Many long, long years ago.
And I wondered why?
Why she looked the same as she all ways had?
Who had change?
The bags under my eyes drooped,
My shoulders slumped,
My feet stumbled more than they ever had in the past.
Sitting beside the first picture was
Another photo of her taken last summer,
She looked the same as she always had,
But something inside her had changed.
In that way that pictures cannot capture,
And gilded mirrors do not reflect.
At first I thought maybe a little less luster to her hair,
Or a used spent look to her eyes, but no.
She still looked the same as she always had.
There is neither a line nor a fold on her body
That wasn’t there before,
But the person who had spoken to me
These last few years . . . was a stranger.
I wonder . . .
Was it a cheating heart
Or merely the body
That it consumed . . .
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pitifulinc reviewed Version 1 -
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I only found one mistake.”Who had change”, should it be ‘changed’? Other than that, this narrative is sad if not predictable in its outcome. It does show the progression of a relationship and the nuances we take for granted. My thought is that you should polish this,[some lines need work],and keep it as a tribute to any one who has survived a failed relationship. Good work!!
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Zenicia reviewed Version 1 -
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i really enjoyed this read. i like how it never stated everything and let you fill in the blanks. i like that you repeted the question through out the piece. i could picture the years passing and the sadness in his eyes and the distance in her personality. this was a great piece.
EvnSuicideAgrees reviewed Version 1 -
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Written very well….not to interested in the breaks….I liked it anyways…haha!! I really like how much raw emotion and life you put into your poems!!!Keep writing i Loved it!!
sircmichaels reviewed Version 1 -
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Well constructed wording, though wondering if the number of lines chosen was intentional or just how it worked out? That is to say, some parts have four lines, some two, some more than that. The overall emotion that emanates from the poem is sorrow and a sense of loneliness. Particularly liked the final image about the chesting heart and so forth.
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