i am fluent in broken hearts, in misery,
almost as if it were my mother tongue.
there is a city on my bedside counter,
of bowls and plates, of dirty silverware,
a civilization built over the past week.
is it depressing, how much time i spend
watching infomercials on the tv? dirty clothes
have begun to pile up behind the door.
i search and search in the ball pit for
my childhood, this is where i lost it.
it is writhing away, shrieking like
a child who cannot contain their elation.
there is a ravine between me and
the person withering in the other room.
mother, must your hands deflower? i ask,
coming into the living room where i know
soon i'll have to change the name. time is
slipping through these slender fingers.
i massage her aching bones, at least
i can purge her pain, if only for a moment.
if only you had more time, i choke,
knees raw from kneeling beside the couch.
i am fluent in breaking hearts, even if
i intend to make amends. too bad
Rosetta Stone doesn't offer that language.
Author's Note: I have a couple of questions for those who decide to review the poem. I'm a little conflicted about the 'broken hearts' and 'breaking hearts' aspect of the poem, do you think it's cliche? Is the poem vague at parts and not so vague at others/how does the poem flow with the imagery? Does it hop around too much? And, finally, at the end of the piece, do you think 'amendments' is fine, or should I change it to 'amends' or another synonym? Thanks so much!