Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

How Not to Love a Liar

–Man’s rejection, God’s protection.

I am exactly like I am.
No water of mistrust here.
Swamps, perhaps. The heavy coil of wood.
Bones to go with it.
There was no landscaper in your life,
there was no man without a car,
there was just me:
The brake in the stomach feels no pain;
the break in the heart, everything.
White hair of frost,
powder and grey,
the rage of the storm diminished–
Unfortunately, I am fortunate not to have loved you.
Michael H. Brownstein has been widely published throughout the small and literary presses. His work has appeared in The Café Review, American Letters and Commentary,, and others. In addition, he has nine poetry chapbooks including I Was a Teacher Once (Ten Page Press, 2011) and Firestorm: A Rendering of Torah (Camel Saloon Press, 2012). He is the editor of First Poems from Viet Nam (2011). Brownstein taught elementary school in Chicago’s inner city (he is now retired), but he continues to study authentic African instruments, conducts grant-writing workshops for educators, designs websites and records performance and music pieces with grants from the City of Chicago’s Department of Cultural Affairs, the Oppenheimer Foundation, BP Leadership Grants, and others.

Categories: Poetry, Themed, Unfortunately I can't love you

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