poem 1
galvanized slowly,
a stinging permutated
to the eyes of wood,
the hands of wood.
you pulled a wool blanket
over your heart,
wondered why such distance.
watering can at the beach.
cold soothes a crawling ache.
ichigo the angry dog chases a ruined
green tennis ball and brings it back to me.
your house is destroyed
and the sun briefly passes,
an endless fetch as
things come and erode.
***
poem 2
downstairs is the
spare bed. with
generic flower comforter
by always drawn beige blinds.
you snuck lovers there
for years, offered tours of the garage.
a holiday for broken hearts
while fog came in.
the duct you fixed.
his fishing poles.
things you both stored and
held for too long
while your dogs slept in cages upstairs,
as if no life was allowed inside.
it might take time for you to wake,
rise from this brokenness
and see how faded
it all really was.
it all really was.
***
poem 3
he is leaving you
for a boy from singapore.
i was left too
and you need someone who understands
loneliness and loving the broken hearts of your pets.
why waves down the street are not the same.
how the dead tree overlooking a vastness past your cliffs was alive when he would walk you there, and how now, it lies forever dead.
you feel forever dead.
i lie and say your hurt will go away. but a truth to that could be that it lessens, and
what remains can be locked up,
leaving room for not hurt.
joy. sorrow. the feeling on your skin when sun comes out.
i sit next to you on the dead tree.
it will always be dead.
i touch your hand, and feel you alive,
even if you cannot.
***
poem 4
a life that sat
still by broken window pieces
what was seen in
the blue,
the ocean he created.
you cannot cross.
there is no bridge.
dogs sit on astroturf
in a backyard with no plants.
you burned waffles and cried.
you could not see me. i
don’t think you ever will,
you have made an ocean too.
***
Kevin Army 