Breakup poem where I am not sad

by Abner Dormiendo

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
As a matter of fact, I can also write
the happiest lines, the angriest lines,
lines with the greatest guilt it won’t
admit. Lines that moan and sigh, lines
that apologize, lines with the longest lines
as far as lines are concerned. Lines of equal
lengths and measures. Lines with snow
and rain in it. Lines of fire and thunder
and the weather in it. How’s the weather?
Oh the same lines of clouds, the same
contrails above our heads, lines of birds
slicing the sky, lines of electric wires.
Lines that carry a voice to a distant ear,
cable lines for bodies too tired for
the line of a mountain, the lines that
make us wait, lines on the faces after
years and years of waiting for the lines
to finally erase themselves in the palm
of a God, that line in the Bible where
He would not forget, write that down.
That line where we are told how to love,
write that down. The line we put below
that line. Red lines and blue lines. Lines
telling us how to write. Lines for walking
and lines for driving. Lines in the mileage,
lines in the gas tank. Lines for empty
and lines for full. Tree lines, fault lines,
lines that divide and lines that bring things
together. Lines that lead from point
to point. Lines that form a picture.
Color inside the lines, then color outside.
Lines we follow are also lines we tend to
break. Lines for boundaries. Lines we cross.
Lines of vision, lines for precision, lines
that have nothing to do with me. Lines
that have only something to do with me
at only the slightest moment of touch.
Tangential lines and parallel lines. Lines
that cross each other then never again.
Invisible lines like constellations, pathways,
rose compasses blossoming on the road.
Lines that lead us home. Lines that lead us
away from home. Lines we forget because
they’re lines that mislead. A bridge like
a line over the line of a river. The river a line
to the tune of the sea. The sea and its lines
of boats, ropes like lines, anchors like lines,
hulls cutting water open like a surgeon
with a marker in hand, a needle in
the other, a line of thread in the needle
of the other, the line between death
and life. The life line, the heart line,
the line that tells us how long it takes
for that heart beat to flat-line. The line
we rehearse. The line for the hearse.
The line for loss and its many variations
where I am sorry is one of them,
happy places are one of them, peace and
eternity like a line that stretches across
space and time. Lines as endless
as the shoreline. A line in the sand.
Your name in the sand like an arrangement
of lines. Like a firewood is an arrangement
of twigs. Twigs like lines. Smoke lines,
ash lines, cigarettes sitting parallel
on the tables. Lines of people waiting
to be seated on the table. A list of names
that look like lines when you blur your eyes.
The guiding stick like a line for the blind.
If we’re heading for the right direction,
keep it straight. Keep your line in line.
Your body in line. Your memory in line.
Your face against the sunshine. Your face
turned from mine. The lines of your brows,
now erased. The bridge of your nose, outline
of your smile, erased. Your name just a line
as far as we are talking about lines, erased.
Your name I’d rather not say, your name a line
I refuse to pray. A line like a shadow against
the light. Your name a line I refuse to write.

*

Day 24 of NaPoWriMo: Write a parody or a satire of a poem. As the first line suggests, I chose Pablo Neruda’s famous poem Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines. Needless to say, it got out of control and turned into one mess of a breakup poem. Whereas Neruda is filled with a sadness from loss, I would want mine to be void of bitterness and regret. So I included everything. Haha.

In other news, I finally caught up with my NaPoWriMo! And the poems so far from my breakup series are mostly doing okay.

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