Let me tell you something about your son.
He misses you.
You may know that. I’ve no idea of consciousness
besides my own.
He misses you so much
he sees you alive maybe on an island
where you washed up when your boat went down.
Maybe you crawled up from the detritus and dead cod
and became king of some unmapped Viking island in the North Atlantic.
That would make him a prince.
His story was lovely.
If I were he,
I would wish you dead,
rather than alive on a throne
and not looking for me.
Jennifer Martelli was born and raised in Massachusetts, and graduated from Boston University (BA/BS) and The Warren Wilson M.F.A. Program for Writers (M.F.A.). She’s taught high school English as well as women’s literature at Emerson College in Boston. Her work has appeared, or will appear, in the following publications: The Denver Quarterly, Sugared Water, Slippery Elm, and Bop Dead City. She was a finalist for the Sue Elkind Poetry Prize and a recipient of the Massachusetts Cultural Council Grant in Poetry. Her chapbook, “Apostrophe,” was published in 2011 by BigTable Publishing Company. Right now, she is at home with her two kids, involved in the poetry scene in Salem, Massachusetts, and teaching occasional classes at the Peabody Library.
Categories: Poetry, Themed, Unfortunately I can't love you
Tags: Dear______________, e-zine, ezine, hyperbole, Jennifer Martelli, longing, melancholy, melancholy hyperbole, poem, poet, poetry, unfortunately I can't love you
Leave a Reply