Thursday, January 1, 2004

Even the Nails in the Sheetrock Missed Her

When she entered a room, the room paid attention.
When she entered his house,
the leather couches plumped up and shone,
the hardwood floors were giddy with tapping
against the soles of her small black shoes,
the books on the shelves jostled each other
for a better view of the waves of her hair.

When she didn't come, the walls held their breath,
straining to hear her voice, her laugh.
When she still didn't come, that crying noise wasn't him.
The white gauze curtains hung keening,
as they remembered the stroke of her fingers.
And at night, when he turned and turned,
it was only because the bed prodded him continually,
as the pillows pleaded in his ear, "Bring her back."
And when he sat up, his hand on his chest,
how could he breathe,
when all the air had gone out into the street
calling her name?

Cheryl Gatling

published in Rattle

1 comment:

  1. This poem was presented by Tim Green of 'Rattle' at a recent workshop.

    I was first snagged by the title and since reading it over and over, the words, emotions, cleverness still touch me.

    It is a fabulous poem!