POETRY
Etch Me Upon the Glass
a free verse poem
Sometimes when you leave,
you gather everything quietly
into bags, not suitcases.
You gather what you can.
No lingering goodbye at the door,
just a sob-strewn stumble, out,
a shadow swallowing the sun.
The floorboards release your weight
one last time and you wonder
if anyone will etch your name
anywhere, anyplace it might belong
like on their hearts or memories
or at least in the bellies of dreams.
If you etch me on the glass, you can hang me
under the deadened tree where the birds
used to sing for me. The cowbirds
with their brown heads might look
for a place to leave their young
but I leave nothing behind.
Not even my face, etched into glass,
arranged into triangles,
tinkling on their strings.
I can’t find my shoes.
I have only one of one pair
and twos of others and
some of them…
