the last year of the plague

She took the silence between us
and folded it so gently
and precisely
and carried it as a precious burden
through the last year of the plague,
in our marriage.

She took the notes from my guitar,
pure and perfect, from the hillside
and set them loose
on running water, cool and clear
through the last year of the plague,
in our marriage.

She took the sickness from my eyes,
which I thought
was holy pain,
and disinfected it to show my hubris
through the last year of the plague,
in our marriage.

Yet the slavering, gangrenous beast
I was determined to become
would not be still –
crushing her and our tiny babies.
Through the last year of the plague,
in our marriage.

I was sitting in a coffee shop
on Victory and Van Nuys,
the day after I left.
Trying to stare down my vacant cup.
It was the last year of the plague,
in our marriage.

This poem originally appeared on my MySpace blog, Full Mental Jacket on 1/12/2008

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This entry was published on 01/12/2008 at 3:11 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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