The lilac sky leaves us in the darkest time.
And again the things that escape your throat
Are nothing but a cluster of nonsense words.
It's moments like this that make me miss
The days of cherry flowers and bent trees.
You ask me with honey-dripping words,
"Do you recall that hopeless time
When you sank onto the living room floor
As the policeman said he all but missed
Your father's limp corpse hung amidst the trees?"
And your honey is poison searing my throat.
I want to tell you that I wouldn't miss
Your careless touches and indifferent words
If you were gone tomorrow by the time
I plunge into the lake behind the trees
And let the water set fire to my throat,
But I can't take my sunken eyes off the floor.
If only your gaze didn't clench shut my throat,
I'd say, "I remember when you made me miss
His funeral of gray skies and dead trees
And when you sat on the cold kitchen floor
Making black ashes of his last words."
I'd tell you, "I know all those desperate times."
But still, I stare at the frayed carpet floor
And your scoff sings along with the trees
Rustling their leaves, and you speak without words.
Your eyes are rusted daggers at my throat
And I can't tell, after all this time,
What it was that I had so badly missed.
As the moon peeks out from behind the trees
Thoughts yearn for courage to leave my throat
But I know they will never be spoken words.
(Sestinas are too hard to write. I almost killed myself while writing this.)
(Sestinas are too hard to write. I almost killed myself while writing this.)