According to my journal, I haven't written a poem since 2005 when I took my husband's name. I wonder if this has any significance but I suppose I'd rather not think about it because trying to explain to my family that I am changing my name back in order to write poetry again will only confirm their worst suspicions...(whatever they may be)
So, here is that last poem I wrote. I'm really proud of it, which probably means that no one but me will ever like it. But I've always wanted to share it and didn't know how, so here goes.
I scribble it across page after page;
Only my finger knows what's written there.
I sign it on foggy windows when it rains,
Then wipe it clean to keep the window bare.
I whisper it--too softly to be heard,
While walking down a noisy, crowded street.
I chant it to myself when I can't sleep,
His breathing marking time, a steady beat.
I've given up the first thing that was mine.
I've thrown away the map that led to me.
No breadcrumbs wait to show me the way home.
All that's left to me is a receipt.
What's done is done
And yet, I still repeat
The word to stay complete.