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The Forgetfulness of Tuesdays.

JeanMarie Marchese Avatar  Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled The Forgetfulness of Tuesdays. which was written by poet JeanMarie Marchese. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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The Forgetfulness of Tuesdays.

She studied her shoes for ages, laces frayed from her obvious clumsiness

He touched her arm, lightly, as tornadoes settled themselves and memories
fought the weather,
her hair, it seemed, was nappier on Tuesdays, and he tousled her
when she woke up.


"Please" was always spoken too lightly,
she fell inside herself with the familiarity of requests
and apologized for winter's mess,
she shook her head,
her eyes always fell on Tuesdays,
and sighed, for how is tragedy
pretty?


He snapped pictures for their calendars, she pasted them above
dates and message boards on smudged kitchen walls,
she fell in love with the deterioration of paper
and decided hate would fit
him
better,
the stacked boxes above her refrigerator sang out lonliness
and the letters that wrote out their connection
on Friday nights
spoke now of neglect.


She walked through hallways, lit dimly by apple cinnamon scented candles,
and watched her shadow lead her though
silent rooms,
her fingers slid across the cracks that had become the voices of abused dishes
and anger, in January, when Tuesday's sun rose too cold,
when Friday nights made her
shiver
and the sweaters he laid upon her shoulders became threadbare,
for this was neglect
weaved in between with the threads of spoken love.


Day breaks in the middle of thought sometimes, as silence breaks
with breathing,
and there was a reminder at twelve twenty seven a.m.
that he was there and dreaming,
that she was useless, save for the hair that tickled her cheeks when they became rosy
from the wind that stung her alabaster skin on
Friday nights in January
and she tied her shoes, certain that the laces would soak in puddles
of melting ice,
walked through doorways as her shadow followed her
to the portrait of hope where alone wasn't signified
by the beating hearts that forgot to love
on Tuesdays.



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