image credit: https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/pretty-sexy-woman-silk-10931620
is this my home?
spinning ‘round n round
going from high to low
and back ‘round again.
is this that place where a heart feels heard
and shoulders ease?
for far too long the tongue’s been tied
and the shoulders tense
from being left in the dark
because my stories don’t matter.
the voice has been shushed
and pushed into a corner steadily decaying.
do you hear me
as you untie my wrappings? do you wish to pull out my stories while uncovering my parts and pieces?
do you turn the lights on
and keep them shining,
to see all of me?
or do you take only what you need?
is this where I belong
or do I hide in the dark
to seek comfort and refuge
from a stranger’s company.
i would tell if you asked.
i would say so if only you took the chance.
in the blaze of the summer heat, drips
of sweat rippled down our smooth skin backs.
we set out for adventure along the Pacific coast,
the four of us squeezed in a compact sedan.
sisters laughing, shouting, nowhere else to be.
engaging winding hair-pin turns, honking,
speeding, and slamming on the brakes
as the afternoon sun scorched the town.
we reveled in the sights, mountainsides, sea
cliffs, the endless shore; such views we’d never
seen before or soon forget. we eventually reached
the city of angels, the city lights; the most memorable
trip of our lives sailed through those late nights. we
often walked in a daze, both night and day.
a trip we still laugh about, the screams belting out
winding down the coast, and how close we were
to the end of it all…
what i thought i had lost,
a love that would never return,
now fulfills distant dreams-
an unanticipated ecstasy.
but while caught in the midst of it,
how is it that i still think of you?
the one who got so close but still so far away,
the one who buried me deep,
with a voice kept on repeat,
i can’t seem to make that voice,
or those words, go away.
how is it that ‘i keep coming back
to your shores’?
how is it that i keep hoping for more
when i know nothing
will ever come of this?
does the music ever provide the answers
or does it only tell us what we wish to hear?
Thanks to Robert Charboneau for this poem. Although my blog and book are both titled ‘Coffee Shop Sessions’ this is the first poem that is actually about coffee!
Follow Robert on Twitter or on his blog for more of his poetry and drawings.