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Thursday, June 11, 2015

Your name... a sigh on my lips

What an odd thing -- names.
It's not you
     but altogether becomes you.
Parents deciding labels
for such events
     as
          -front porch yelling
          -automobile registration
          -writing of checks
Some people nod
and say, "Oh, that name fits,"
or "i thought that would be your name."
These people are liars.

Names begin at birth
but don't end at death.
Well loved names get polished rocks
named after them.
And people drop cut flowers there
     so you and the flowers and the name-rock
can be worn away
     by time and worm and element.

Those especially known names are given
to large pieces of concrete and glass.

And your name?
Exhaled air, collected sounds.
Only a word, like a thousand billion other words.
This word that
feels as new
          as squid on my tongue;
feels as odd
          as mercury in my hand.

Your name sends blue racers
down my spine.

My mind has become a haunted house.
Your name being the flitting ghosts
I catch in the corner of my ear.

I pester the mailbox for your name.
My sigh sounds like your name.

But your name,
     has never beckoned you like a genie.
          Your name is not
                              your hand in mine.
Neither does forming it on my lips
                   bring the form of your lips
                                  to
                               press mine.

Still,
     I catch myself
tracing your name with my finger
on the table.


Today's guest post is by James Best, ex-boyfriend and writer extraordinaire.  This poem has not been used by permission, so if you know his current contact info, please ask him to contact me.  :D

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