Chipped Lover

A persona poem, from the view of a woman who is losing her husband to cancer and is selling their once-prized possessions in a yard sale.

Chipped Lover

 

Burning across time, besides hopelessness

& forged autographs, in which

the occasional chest of drawers stand with edges torn, between

the lines of sex and desire, my chipped lover

awaits you.

 

These tables are borne clear and empty now, the night

falling dusk upon shoulders marked

with iridescent price tags, a few porcelain dolls

lying in remission with their hair tied tight

in pastel bows,

I am reminiscent of the days we spent as newlyweds.

 

Before the fall, this mug marked many things,

but August comes as August does,

taking your hair with its horrible charades.

Chemotherapy has turned you inside out,

and the children have died away, their voices torn

into the hospital hallways, fading

from my arms as the sunlight beats the curtain of the noon –

 

Oh, how have you not cried half the tears as I?

How have you not lost the urge to live?

 

In July, we sipped love out of this cup with two straws,

dropping it on the ground feeling organisms fester

in it’s wake, pick it up, rinse it

off, begin anew.

We’re not that old, we still have time

to wash the blue from our veins,

 

but you, my dear one, are losing time.

Oh, chipped lover, set upon the market.

Oh, my husband, how your words then meant nothing.

 

Author's Note

First draft....yeah ^_^