Our Many Never Endings – Courtney Queeney

You entered the bedroom and fell to your knees.
I wait the rest of my life to hear you say, I made a mistake.

Inside my chest, a mangle.
Inside yours, a deflating balloon.

You took the vacuum cleaner, the ironing board, the dish rack
and left me some lint, an iron to scorch shirts, one chipped plate.

I would like to say at least we perfected
entrances and exits, like professional stage actors

honing their craft, but even that’s a fantasy.
Mostly on TV the lions ate the hyenas

but sometimes the hyenas
formed a posse, and tore a lion up.

Occasionally you came in out of the rain
and I was glad to have you.

I am weirdly obsessed with breakup poems, in spite of the fact that I absolutely adore S. Terrible messy things just continue to fascinate me. I never did like dissecting frogs or things in school, but I like dissecting these. The interesting prose-y-ness of this; the way the tense switch in the first couplet conveys the sense that she is, even now, still waiting.

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