Spare Me Your Expensive Tastes
A Poem
IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
Spare Me Your Expensive Tastes
Regarding my last letter,
Those sentiments arose
When I first made my bed
And shook out from the old linens
A pair of paper swans
Folded out of white crepe.
Therefore, excuse me
And my romantic language.
I did not intend to release it
Into the good weather we’ve been having.
Since last writing, more relics have been unearthed.
A pretty piece of prose,
A dehydrated rose,
A butterfly, encased in glass,
And a broken compass.
I’ve enclosed them all
But forgive them if they scatter
Or get lost in the post
Over time. It’s not their fault,
Since you insist on running
Even when I am not chasing
Anymore.
It’s rather embarrassing, honestly:
The neck-kerchiefs you fling to the wind
Upon every departure, as if these memories
Can ever escape so easily.
Spare me your expensive tastes,
And breadcrumb trails of pearls
That glimmer in your wake —
In moonbeams.
Spare me the unravelling thread
That hints at your lace sleeve.
It is only your fashion you are wasting.
Such things cannot fill an envelope.
You cannot part with them so cheaply.
Read the prose,
Smell the rose,
Wonder at the dead thing,
And just go home.
For more short stories and poetry follow me here!