Love is an abstract painting:
Colors convey a feeling but not an idea
the frame barely holds it together and the lines
trail outward, repeat, and redouble
I can’t discern the meaning
can’t analyze or write out an explanation
I can’t fathom obtaining the truth because I am not rich enough to buy it
and I am not interested enough to keep visiting the museum
crying over a simple email
the lasts build a lump in my throat
last time beaming onstage
signing yearbooks
wearing a stiff blue skirt
One girl’s lanky frame against the dark turf field,
lit up by fluorescent lights
She saunters toward the building
holding another girl’s hand
The screen stares back at me:
9:30 pm,
an unfinished assignment,
a deadline due.
My weary chest heaves a heavy breath.
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