From a compilation of poems soon to be published.
She Wore Scarves,
beautiful, expensive ones.
Complimented her hazel eyes and bright teeth,
hid the wrinkles on her neck.
She wore scars,
Ugly ones that kept her from loving mine.
She wanted freedom, the kind that birds have
The kind I keep
She wore stars.
The same as war heroes adorn.
Earned from surviving a privileged life that almost killed her.
It killed us. I failed the peace test. The only thing she really wanted.
She wore fears disguised as enlightenment.
How Tricky. How very tricky.
I believed her infatuation was bedrock. It was quicksand.
She wore scarves, with hidden pockets and compartments. Places I never got to see or ever would. I think they were full of music, and chess and paint and despair and loneliness.
I wore her out...
