The fam'ly up the stairs has cracked apart.
The dad moved out a couple days ago.
The mom is home alone, her broken heart
Inaudible. Impossible to know
Her state of mind, evolving night by night.
She climbs the steps and fumbles with her key,
And draws her blinds against the dusky light.
Just move along folks. Nothing here to see.


Salon.com
Comments
Take care.
fumbling with the keys
you got me, db, sadly maybe,
got me good
waking: yes, you described the stage well in your First Four Weeks After The Break-Up. I'm still stuck on "when you tried to swallow the sadness that wouldn't go down." Thank you for commenting here.
Caroline: It's so funny -- you and waking commented so soon after I finished the poem. I was still looking at compositional problems in it, and then you said it was your favorite! This was a very lovely surprise. Thank you.
tril - I wonder, I can't know her pain, or yours, or anyone's. But yes, I know mine, and I do know what normal everyday details look like. I've been surprised at the deep reactions here -- I suspect that everyone here has seen these details before.
scupper - when a little, 8-line poem gets a compliment like that, from you and caroline, I have to go back and re-read it to make sure I didn't miss something. Honestly, all I did was think about my neighbor, and the thing just sort of rolled out. I am very sad for her, her husband, and their daughter.
kim - Thank you so much for visiting. Please come back, it's nice to have more company. I'm just guessing here... are you a friend of scuppers' ?
Thanks again, everyone.
clear into the week before last week,
sometimes even further,
depending on the whether.
loving having found you db,
and i love your avatar, very much.
really, that could be matisse.
And Rita. Thanks for looking in. Yes, the repetition. For a while it's the only comfort available.