ninanevermore

What, you're still here? I warned you.

I've been trying to type up my poems and get them into an electronic format, old ones and new ones both. They are so scattered about in old notebooks and such, it's been fun and odd to discover them and rework them.

I found two poems of mine, both written in 1989 around the time I broke up with Frank (the guy I got arrested over in collage). When I wrote them, they were both about him and written from his point of view, or rather me mocking his point of view (in both cases, writing about he just didn't get it). When I put them in my computer last week, though, I couldn't help but change the story and combine them into one poem with two viewpoints.

The story is no longer mine and Frank's. It's another story entirely about two other people. Instead of a jerk who doesn't get it, the guy is someone who is at a loss as to what is going on. The second part of the poem, orignally told in Frank's voice justifying/semi-denying his infidelity to me, is now the voice of a woman. When these poems were about Frank and me, I didn't feel sorry for him at all and felt very sorry for myself. Now, I kind of feel sorry for the guy in this poem, though I still think he doesn't get it. But unlike what I did, the woman is seeking her satisfaction elsewhere.

Pillow Talk

He turns to her and says:
     I don't understand you.
     Don't I give you nice things?
     I buy you dinners
     with wine and the works,
     and don't I thank you
     for all your sacrifices?
     You're so good to me, baby,
     just go to sleep and let me hold you.
     Didn't I show you a wonderful night?
     Didn't I treat you like a queen?
     What's wrong with you?
     You want to talk?
     Fine, I'll talk.
     Oh, and now you roll over like that!
     Didn't I say we could talk?
     Listen, I love you.
     I don't see what else matter
     so long as we've got that.
     And we do, don't we?
     I mean, you love me too,
     right?

She thinks to herself:
     The truth of the matter
     amounts to this:
     I don't like ambiguity,
     but you're both wrong and right.
     If you loved me you would know
     that when I look at him
     I still love you
     and if he and I made love,
     it's not like I've betrayed you
     because in my heart, I'm sorry.
     I want you to understand
     that if it happened,
     it makes no difference
     because I'll always come back
     here, to this room, to this bed,
     and my heart will break
     if you aren't waiting for me
     when I return.

- Nina Erickson
1989/2006
(c)2006