The Anti-Poet

poetry-274x300God knows I am not a poet. I have never taken a class in writing poetry, cannot tell iambic pentameter from trochaic tetrameter, and probably have not read a poem since taking an English lit class more than 30 years ago. OK, there was the silliness a friend and I called speed haiku, with the emphasis more on the speed than the poetry. And once, eons ago, when I was dabbling–badly–in free verse, I did manage to get one poem published in the Christian Science Monitor, of all places. But since then, my stabs at poetry have been sporadic and confined to my notebooks, something for which I’m sure the world is grateful.

And yet…at odd times, usually when I’m in the midst of emotional angst (all right you wags out there, enough with the comments like “When aren’t you?”), I attempt to put down some strings of words that might be considered, in a certain light by a generous observer, something akin to poetry. Very mediocre poetry, but there you have it. And an event of last night moved me to write something today.

There are elements of the real-life situation that sits behind these words that, if you knew them, might give you a better sense of the meaning. Or maybe not. But in the end, they stand or fall on their own, eh? So, if you’re still with me and the slightest bit curious, here goes.

The Weekly Marathon Call

“I didn’t trust her”
was the last thing I expected her to say
about her mother.
“I don’t trust her now.”
A vehement distrust planted and nurtured in childhood,
with only brief, almost begrudging bouts of love
to bring down her guard.

“She was not a motherly mom,”
she went on,
her voice starting to deepen and shake
as she inhaled the soft sobs ready to rupture,
saying what had already become so clear.

Then she said she trusted me;
whatever our past misunderstandings,
whatever anger I had pulled from deep within her,
we could talk.
We did not deceive.
Our love was a stepping stone for understanding.

I listened, nodded, a nod unseen in her bedroom
half a continent away.
As unseen as the tears that unexpectedly pooled
in the corner of my eyes.

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~ by mburgan on July 27, 2017.

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