I palm the mug to save the beer inside from rain
With nature, no slight is personal
Not even when the river drowns a swimmer
From the trestle’s height, I can see the outline of the boulders below
I can see the sign warning of the jagged rocks, saying not to jump
People do, though, in summer
You have to time it right, just after a rain
I’m convinced that places take longer than people to love,
that I’m probably more place than person
A purple-red mountain whose back crawls with ragged trees
Bear cubs run up my arm
A sunlit canyon in my chest gives way to a waterfall
And yet it seems hard for people to love me
From the trestle’s height, I see everything
I see him at the summer solstice party,
admiring a quiet girl in a flowered dress
He always maintained he never loved me
But until I see him love another, how will I know he never lied?
Below me, the eddy resembles a mud puddle from my youth
They say to move forward, you have to go back again
Lynn Marie Houston’s poetry has appeared in various journals and in her first collection, The Clever Dream of Man (Aldrich Press). One of her poems won second place from the Arizona State Poetry Society in the 2015 contest sponsored by the National Federation of State Poetry Societies. After earning a Ph.D. from Arizona State University, she is currently pursuing her MFA at Southern Connecticut State University. Visit her website here.
Categories: Poetry
Tags: e-zine, ezine, hyperbole, longing, Lynn Marie Houston, melancholy, melancholy hyperbole, new, poem, poet, poetry, poets, Reincarnation As Someone With A Love Life, submit, writing
Melancholy Hyperbole 