It’s another Poetry Monday. Hope you survived the weekend. Here are some words from Peter Ferenczi to help place you in a different mindset than the one you currently hold.
my final night in New York
delayed by idiots at the postal drop
(how hard is it to print a shipping label?)
I ring her doorbell, late.
it’s another last
in a trickle that began months ago,
a dribble swollen to a flood
in the looming shadow of departure.
each last pops with flashbulb intensity.
bright, Technicolor enhanced,
drawn meticulously detailed by a mind
trying to burn itself on a moment.
her shadow coalesces from the hallway’s gloom,
silhouette abstracted by the frosted glass.
the shuffle of her slippered feet,
door opens to let a last dissolve into the night.
inside, the lingering smells of cooking,
the walls I helped paint,
the 70’s couch where we watched videos on
quiet evenings, the television turned low.
we sit there now, the TV on,
trading trivialities for a while;
we talk around the finality of it.
then we go into her bedroom.
the taxi idles in the street.
on the stoop in the blood-warm dark,
I kiss her as if I’ll be back tomorrow
and I’m gone, rolling towards Brooklyn.
“girlfriend?” asks the cabby.
“yeah – no, not any more.”