Heart Hurts
My heart hurts
or maybe I'm just tired.
Tired enough
to resort to cliches,
to pull covers up to my neck,
to say, what the hell,
we're going to Ruby Tuesday's for dinner.
I open email after email,
read "We're going to pass on your work . . .
thanks for sharing,"
when all that I really want to do
is share.
I send an email,
that hurts a friend.
and realize that
no response is worse than a rejection.
I realize that a hazy red sky
is no better than a lavender one.
Just different.
I can handle someone not liking my shoes
or the taste of my broccoli soup.
What I cannot handle
is the funny expression
on someone's face, when the wine is bitter
and the cake is flat.
The pushing in of the chair,
or the walking away.
or maybe I'm just tired.
Tired enough
to resort to cliches,
to pull covers up to my neck,
to say, what the hell,
we're going to Ruby Tuesday's for dinner.
I open email after email,
read "We're going to pass on your work . . .
thanks for sharing,"
when all that I really want to do
is share.
I send an email,
that hurts a friend.
and realize that
no response is worse than a rejection.
I realize that a hazy red sky
is no better than a lavender one.
Just different.
I can handle someone not liking my shoes
or the taste of my broccoli soup.
What I cannot handle
is the funny expression
on someone's face, when the wine is bitter
and the cake is flat.
The pushing in of the chair,
or the walking away.
posted by Cate at 5:44 PM
2 Comments:
I recognized your e-mail ID. Now I have an idea who you are. Keep blogging. I want to keep reading :)
Yep, it's me. Edinboro girl. I've been loving your blog for a LONNGGG time and often wanted to comment but couldn't deal with the rigamarole of signing up for a Blogger account. The "Mother Posts" just put me over the edge (besides, I quickly learned that enrolling in Blogger is not the equivalent of applying to a doctoral program).
Thanks for stopping by!
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