The Break-Up- a Poem

104. The Break-Up 9/29/10

Poetry and I haven’t been on speaking terms for a while now.

Some ugly things were said, feelings were hurt, and

She stopped returning my calls a few months ago.

First, I tried to pretend I didn’t care.


I told myself she would call me back when we were both ready.

Then, I started to panic, and tried to call more often.

She answered the phone a few times, but I could tell her heart wasn’t really in it,

And all our conversations were glum, uninspired, nothing like they were before.


I spoke to a few people who know her,

And they all said she was fine, that she’d been returning their calls.

It’s very uncomfortable to need a friend who doesn’t need you.

Why should poetry speak to me when she has so many other, better friends?


I knew all I could do was wait.

I waited by the electric glow of the computer,

The threateningly blank page,

And I waited on walks,

talking to myself in the hopes that she might chime in.


After many months of wondering when I would talk with her again,

I had almost given up hope.

I was walking in another city, reading another writer’s conversation with her,

When suddenly- she was with me!


I tore off the back of a brown paper bag,

And, trying not to look too eager,

(I didn’t want to scare her away this time,)

We finally began to talk again.