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david hockney proud
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you suddenly stare at me
older now and mouth creases
but it suits
like your life always seemed to just fit
in a way that mine didn’t
congruent with your dimensions
———-
smiling brown hair in fashionable style
flowered urbane dress
red lipstick brightened and your eyes
family just visible, but not enough to know them
the sun’s late afternoon glow turns the wall a dried flower yellow
it seems you are just speaking
mouth open to a witty line at the photographer
———-
i follow you sometimes in mind
idyllic life just an abstraction
for ones who are not you
imagining new deck chairs
the smell of suburban grilling
laughing drinks near water and familial friends
content rainstorms watering your grass
———-
you said that there was no devil
on earth once and I knew that
only applied to you
the reason it ended before the beginning
a dream that is best imagined not lived
like a newborn child, precious but needy
i could never afford to feed it
———-
hand pause, no connection
wondering, the idea of you
a counterpoint that needs to be
spoken more than actual awkward words
and your life is not empty without me
better that you remember what could have been
than what exists
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Spawned by laconic and indifferent novelists, I did not know that writing would become my profession until a poem composed on a chilly, wet October evening moved an acquaintance to tears. That poem was not written by me, but it was nonetheless inspiration enough to cause me to submit a succession of works to my college literary magazine. Years later, after the restraining order expired, I decided to make this my profession, despite the lack of any expression of enjoyment or understanding on the part of my few, but avid, readers. I only hope you find this as fulfilling as I. All posts © 2009-2010 All rights reserved. Use without permission will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
