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January 22, 2015

Sadness, You Come. {Poem}

mask sadness

Sadness you come,

bringing your cold fingers

that play with the hem

and the edges of my happiness.

 

But now I know you too well

and know what you would do

and how you would hang on

and creep in and not let go

if I let you have your way

and if I invited you to stay.

 

You would choke me if you could

and you would seep into my chest

and try to make a home of my heart.

 

So, when I see you coming

or feel your shadowed touch,

I resolve to never again fall prey,

but to see you for what you are

and to recognize you right away

because you have become

so much like a stranger to me,

so foreign and so unknown.

 

Now, I see your mouth moving

but your words make no sense.

 

For a moment, I may feel your ache

as I look into your sad face

and watch you speaking sounds

as you weave your tale of heartbreak

and I am touched and grieved

and I feel pity for your pain

but I will not have you live here.

 

There is no guest bed

made up for you in my head.

 

And even when you wear

one of your disguises

that you use to hide in

like the scent of an old lover

or some shame or secret sin

or when you come dressed as

some long ago heartache

or some promise you say

I made and did not keep,

do not expect me to let you in

or to entertain your discontent.

 

I have no commitment to you

or to your darkness anymore.

 

You will have to leave

as soon as I unmask you.

 

And after I do and I ask you to go

and you have gone from me,

I will take the key and lock my door

and sweep remnants of your sorrow

from my soul’s ceiling and its floor

and move thankfully forward

to set the table and wait

for the wisdom that always

follows in your wake.

 

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Author: Michele Collier

Apprentice Editor: Brandie Smith/Editor: Emily Bartran 

Photo: Lubomir Gobs/Pixoto

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