Musings by The Poet Loriet
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Do you remember
just last weekend,
cheeks flushed as
we sipped our Reislings,
shared eggplant parmesan,
discussed the jazz
playing in the background,
looked in each others eyes...
Why can't life
always be that way?
This morning, you
interrupt me once again,
not aware of how insignificant
that makes me feel,
placing me on the back burner.
"Lori, not NOW," you sigh
as I try to philosophize
over breakfast.
"Someone take the dog out,
who left this syrup out,
we have SO much to do today...
Has anyone seen my newspaper?"
I did not mean to irritate you
so early in the morning.
Remember when we were newlyweds,
sitting on the couch,
listening to Tchaicovsky,
snuggling with candles lit,
discussing art, music...
Now, you dismiss me
as easily as you do
The Jehovah's Witnesses
who come to our front door.
Only, I TRY to offer
housewarming gifts,
trinkets of sparkling conversation,
smiles, questions about
your work, guitar,
thoughts, feelings...
You shut the door in my face,
leave me alone on the doorstep--
I fade into the background
with downcast eyes,
blink back tears,
retreat into myself.
Nobody even knows
I've left the room.
I undress,
putting on a leotard,
Indian jewelry,
beaded hip wrap,
turn my radio on
LOUD,
fold laundry
and dance for myself
in the mirror,
for my own
peace of mind.
Your door is shut
more often than not.
I guess I'll just keep knocking,
asking humbly for you to please
let me come in.
Lori Beal
just last weekend,
cheeks flushed as
we sipped our Reislings,
shared eggplant parmesan,
discussed the jazz
playing in the background,
looked in each others eyes...
Why can't life
always be that way?
This morning, you
interrupt me once again,
not aware of how insignificant
that makes me feel,
placing me on the back burner.
"Lori, not NOW," you sigh
as I try to philosophize
over breakfast.
"Someone take the dog out,
who left this syrup out,
we have SO much to do today...
Has anyone seen my newspaper?"
I did not mean to irritate you
so early in the morning.
Remember when we were newlyweds,
sitting on the couch,
listening to Tchaicovsky,
snuggling with candles lit,
discussing art, music...
Now, you dismiss me
as easily as you do
The Jehovah's Witnesses
who come to our front door.
Only, I TRY to offer
housewarming gifts,
trinkets of sparkling conversation,
smiles, questions about
your work, guitar,
thoughts, feelings...
You shut the door in my face,
leave me alone on the doorstep--
I fade into the background
with downcast eyes,
blink back tears,
retreat into myself.
Nobody even knows
I've left the room.
I undress,
putting on a leotard,
Indian jewelry,
beaded hip wrap,
turn my radio on
LOUD,
fold laundry
and dance for myself
in the mirror,
for my own
peace of mind.
Your door is shut
more often than not.
I guess I'll just keep knocking,
asking humbly for you to please
let me come in.
Lori Beal
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