My Benjamin Button

You will always look like this—
In dry-cleaned suits,
Combing your hair to the side.
Wax. Pick. Groom.
Complaining about being too fat,
Too mad, 

sad, bad,
starving,
bored,
disappointed.

I watch you grow
younger
And older, stuck in time;
Regressing, swinging,
The uncontrolled jazz
Of our laughter
And confusion.

Sometimes the happiest music,
Carry the saddest lyrics,
Like dancing sound;
Or my shoes
When they come to your bed.
 
I am that love
Spilling out of your sink;
Like dirty dishes,
Screaming eternal sunshine,
That—
this is home.

You wandered too far,
And I wait in black and white;
While you break things
And invade my mind
Like warm feet on a cold morning.

Now I shoot paper pigeons
Out into the wild;
If you remember Paris,
Or poems,
Or me.

It is silent
And final,
Without your complaints.


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One thought on “My Benjamin Button

  1. Wow, Alicia.

    I’m glad to read your post today. You’ve painted raw emotions from your heart straight into mine through your skillful use of words. I heard the tap of your dancing shoes on the sidewalk as you walked away.

    These lines plugged a vision straight into my head:

    “I am that love
    Spilling out of your sink;
    Like dirty dishes,”

    Love like dirty dishes ignored and unattended in his sink. Wow again.

    Keep shooting your “paper pigeons” out into the world. I wait to enjoy their flight.

    Keep writing. All the best. Happy New Year.
    Alice

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