SEND ME A POSTCARD

all my life i’ve leaned on my words and my heart like brick and mortar
so when that wall caved in
i found myself without a roof above my head
my rough hands may look like fists but in truth
they are just assuming the fetal position
i don’t know who i am when my home feels unfamiliar
we talk but it’s like a foreign film with the subtitles turned off

i don’t know who you are anymore
and that’s probably my fault
but there’s no reason to look at me like i’ve left
when my back is breaking trying to hold this roof up
and so is yours and i know that my knees are bending
and you are holding on to the heavy end
but we’ve gotta let go and let this crash down around us
maybe we’ll find that the open night sky provides the space we need
fresh air to breathe to provide relief
from the carbon monoxide around us
you pulled the batteries out of the detector
but i sat there and watched you do it

sometimes being in the moment
means playing cleanup for our past selves
and i think to myself
who was i then and how could i let it come to this
but then i wonder if my past self
was just overwhelmed with my past self
maybe i should live in the moment
and bring my walls in close for a while
but those tiny homes have terrible acoustics
and there’s never enough rooms in them
like a heart with just one chamber
and my heart has one thousand chambers
and there’s no ‘no’ on my vacancy sign
and i’ll leave the light on for ya
but i can’t promise you i’ll always be home
because i can’t provide bed and breakfast
when i’m sleeping on the floor starving to death
i’ve got places to meet and people to be
i’ve got a fatal case of wanderlust
and i know you want to join me on this flight
but it’s one way and red eye and i’ve read your ticket
you’re going somewhere else and you’re gonna love it there

sometimes the anchors that have kept us steady during heavy storms
become the ball and chain that keep us from the cosmos
have a safe flight. i love you more than anything. send me a postcard.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2015

Author: brice maiurro

Denver poet. Author of Stupid Flowers, out now through Punch Drunk Press.

4 thoughts on “SEND ME A POSTCARD”

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