orgami's Diaryland Diary

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786 Farrel Street

sitting in the upper room
the windows are open
can hear the jets landing

so much of emptiness
rattling between us
like the Subway on the sharp
curves the tins after
rush hour hustled into
groups by intertia

All we have was August
pressed between us like
a thorny tether
You were writing that
book of poems and finishing
a thesis
Selling products

We would take the walks
searching clothing shops
for vintage clothes
you and your Gitanes
your Chanel perfume you
bought Testers were cheapest
you said

I remember sitting in watching
you recieve the tatoos
how they already wound their
way around your ankle
were hidden by your tall socks

the kitchen and how you made
your toast and Marmalite via
the burner Your love of Opera
on stormy nights
how you would tear up wrapped
in your quilt

there are a hundred stories
written where you moved
there are less where you
kept the hours in the rooms
I occupied

the typewriter ribbon fingerprints
on the doorframe where you untangled
the Remington Rand
How I never painted over them
I can still see the fall leaves
the black and red you loved
smeared on your fingers

Your Poet smiles

the afternoon has grown colder
and soon the snow will drift
on the verandah
Mr Broken Bike will be buried
again and lean between the
garages

But right now Venus blazes
and I have to dream

2:12 a.m. - 2010-08-16

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