Neopoet.com

When you came home
I saw flowers in your hair.
Sweet smelling lilacs and tulips
in the garden off Larchmere.
And I lifted you
so you could get a peek inside
where you were supposed to be.
Somewhere along the line
you lost faith in God and me,
and forgot what I told you
about patience,
about the pace at which things travel.
You cleverly disguised this
as disinterest,
and I lost faith in what I believed.
You are easy to get ahold of,
but a difficult woman to reach.
I saw you,
a picture of you,
a physical facsimile
in my dining room.
A young woman who smiled at me.
Thin, glasses, the whole nine yards.
Though her nose was slightly crooked.
Her and I lived
as servant and served.
Perhaps this is how we were supposed to be
all this time.
I looked for her later
in her casual business attire, and I listened in to her words
of stepping out of your comfort zone
if there will ever be room for growth,
if there will ever be a future.
I thought this ironic,
I thought this beautiful woman ironic
because I could picture you saying that,
if only living it by a little margin.
I hung my hat on this,
this Hungarian woman’s speech.
You may be easy to get ahold of,
but you’re a difficult woman to reach.
I may as well be speaking a foreign language to you now.
I may as well speak German now,
because your translation can only be
purely intellectual.
This way there is no way
we can reach each other.
I cannot reach you,
and you cannot reach me.
I saw you,
I saw a reasonable facsimile of you
behind stained glass,
behind an opaque window.
I saw your sillouhette and nothing more.
I thought that was all
that was left.
I saw you like this before
I peeled your papier mache skin back.
When you came home you were young,
and vibrant.
Still lithe and sexy.
It’s been nearly two years
and Cleveland has aged you,
I saw it in your face
and I saw it in your eyes
the last time I briefly glimpsed you.
The last time I glimpsed you, you smiled halfheartedly
and so did I.
We are easy people to make smile,
but difficult people to reach.