I am a life-sized, cardboard stand-up.
Place me in the room sometime and speak of me aprés mort.
I hope your words are kind.
I hope you remember that I was kind and that,
At one time,
I fit in your world like a puzzle piece.
Do you speak of me, with a twinkle in your eye,
To your sister-in-law?
Do you think of me at all?
All those summers.
All those hand-worked secrets that took days
To divulge.
Not a day goes by, for me.
The one hearing the dial tone,
Seeing the empty mail box.
I think of you.
This comes across as a very honest piece, something not easy to write and from a vulnerable position. A great test of any creative writing is whether or not it sounds authentic, and this really does.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing on Real Toads.
Cosmos Cami, gosh i think of you all the time! i am soooooooo pleased to see you and to read this beautiful thing. hello! best wishes! love to you! xoxo! yer Marian
ReplyDeletep.s. "hand-worked secrets" is quite a phrase. truly love this.
Fantastic write! Yes, vulnerable and honest and we have so been there. So nice to see you here.
ReplyDelete...the one hearing the dial tone ... a puzzle piece that doesn't fit anymore... A perfectly lovely sad poem.
ReplyDelete