I have always sucked at titles.
Anyway, here’s a rough draft of a divorce poem. Rough as in I finished writing this thing like ten minutes ago, and now I am going to post the raw, unedited version here and let it sit for a few days until I am fresh enough to go back and fix what needs fixing.
If you have any suggestions, please don’t hesitate. I’m not above constructive criticism, and I would never turn away friendly, writerly advice.
Also, I guess this doesn’t have to be a divorce poem at all. It is for me, obviously…but it could just be about that awkward moment when you have to return the pile of shit that the other person left at your place, and there are still all those memories and feelings you’re dealing with in your head.
It’s too early for me to even attempt to be eloquent…make of this what you will.
**UPDATE**
I’ve deleted the rough draft of this poem because I have recently edited and submitted the final copy to a lit journal. Once I submit the final draft of a piece, I take down the rough draft. It’s only fair. I want everyone to know that I really appreciated the feedback and the kind words. It helped muchly. You guys rock more than you know.
That poem is exactly what poetry is to me. It is why I write, read, get out of bed. And it hurts. It actually hurts. My divorce of sorts, it hurts, and your poem aches. And it’s a good thing, which I’m not sure i can explain. Thank you for your words.
I suck at titles, too. The part that hit me square in the chest were these lines: “I have spent hours sweeping traces of you/from corners, and I have ferried your precious things/from room to room like urns of ashes and bones,”– wow.
“I promise myself that I will not write any poems
about empty hands, about the spaces that
even the smallest of kindnesses can leave,”
Oooooooooh, ow. Love this, would be more eloquent about the reasons why I love it if I weren’t bawling.
Oh noes! Sarah…don’t cry!
Now I feel bad…
Thank you for the nice words, though.
Nooo, it’s okay, I needed it. I’m in that “ignore it and maybe it will go away” phase of divorce, which seems to involve a lot of decoupage. Sometimes it takes a skilled poet to wake me up for a second so I can move a few more steps down the road. This is lovely. I can’t stop reading it. I love the “car we bought together” line and the socks white as teeth. But my favorite part is still the empty hands line.