Of what was left behind

Of what was left behind, last Tuesday,
After the eviction of half-baked Linda and
Her Persian cat named Eros

 

The front bushes are yellow. The cement walkway
Is gray, and the car bending

The corner is, also, gray;
But for now Linda’s house, looks very much like

She and her cat are still inside, cuddled
On the couch. The ceiling is covered

With gorilla-glued-on starfish that create
An unrecognizable constellation.

There is a fish tank by the door,
The size of a fridge put on its side,

Filled with water and vegetation,
But no fish. Instead of wallpaper or pictures,

She covers the wall with sheets that were
Scrunched and dyed, now held up

By thumbtacks. A few tacks are scattered
Under the couch next to a hidden mood ring

That glows a cool-blue. The golden fur balls
Scattered about, that cling

To every corner
Represent the reluctance,

Of leaving something loved, that Linda
And her cat tried to fight last Tuesday.

In the back yard, there is
A fifteen year old collection of broken ceramic,

Small blocks of wood, and bamboo rods,
Collected for a magnum opus, that was never started,

While a stork-shaped mailbox
Peers its hand-painted eyes over

The fence, stretching his slender wooden legs,
To try to estimate the value of the vault

He guards; all of us hold on, to giant hollowed fish-tanks,
Surroundings that we veneer, feelings that we try to hide,

And a fear to approach dreams
That we have prepared for, yet never peruse.

Something is watching.
On tall stork-stilts it can see how well we manage

To paste things up in the sky and bind ourselves
Down with essential nothings. As the gray car makes its final turn,
The stork counts the
Golden balls of fur that we rolled most tightly.

If you stare at the star-fish-constellations long enough
You will find, that the stars,
Are only stars.

 

–James Rose

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About loyolapoets

The Greyhound Collective Poetry Revival would like to consider “mission statement” in its simplest terms. Rather than reiterate the boundaries of our task, we simply express our aim: to become a mission – a party of individuals sent out into the world with a message meant to unveil a uniting principle of truth. We define this message as “poetry.” We promote poetry as a viable and vivid art form, alive and accessible. Freed from its ivory tower, our poetry will breathe life into an ailing form while fostering an artful relationship with the greater community. We assert ourselves under the following mantra: “your mouth is a sign of how sacred your life actually is.” As a collective, we write to be sanctified. View all posts by loyolapoets

3 responses to “Of what was left behind

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