Jacques

This one's a poem that I wrote during one of my workshops earlier this year. We had to write a piece about a room that meant a great deal to ourselves. This is what turned out.

Jacques

We’re alike, this room and I –
both of us wanting,
waiting for the slender, quiet figure
to step back in, to fill
and sit smiling,
to be the one who fits naturally here.

We’re both waiting for him to come back,
To smoothly turn on the
gleaming corner lamps, forcing out
the shadows of lost summers.

He’ll drape himself on
this carpet –
jeans stark against the sea of woven brown –
breathe in the musk of
the room’s anticipation and replace it with
his clean air.

And then lean over me, strong fingers
gently handling my plastic model airplane,
tracing its curves and corners with thin, rough fingers,
applying the same considering caress he’ll give to
the blossoms sparkling outside the front door –

This room is waiting for the gardener to
return and cultivate, but
for now it’ll have to make do with me,
skinny boy with orange shorts
playing in the weeds