My friend The Q asked friends for poems they've written, and while it's been a while it shook some dust from my mind and reminded me of this poem I wrote a few years ago:
I dropped a plate and it smashed,
Tiny pieces everywhere.
I swept. I mopped. I vacuumed.
But still tiny shards find their way
out of crevices and into the bottom of my feet.
I had a dream about you,
after all these years.
I ran into you at a dinner party.
We chatted cordially and
when the evening was over
I handed you my business card so
we could do that thing where
you pretend like you're going to be in touch
and also, a little bit, to show off...
"Look how well I'm doing, after all, without you."
You looked at the card in my hand and, in my dream,
in front of all these strangers you said
"I am not making space in my closet," and, in my dream,
in front of all these strangers
I screamed "Fuck You!"
I wanted to feel relief, and pride
that I had come back at you like that.
But instead I felt embarrassed.
After all this time,
after all I've done,
I'm still angry
and I still miss you.