By Juanita Rey
He lies back on the couch,
lights a cigarette.
That’s one more reason
why this is not my place.
I would never allow smoking.
And he doesn’t beg for forgiveness.
A butchered haircut he can live with
but guilt is not his style.
That’s why I’m packing all of my stuff
in the blue suitcase.
Luckily, what I came with
is the same size
as what accompanies my leaving.
This wretched piece of luggage
is rectangular shaped, warped in places,
and closes with much effort.
Who’d have thought
snapping it shut
would be the hardest part.
Juanita Rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country five years. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Opiate Journal, Petrichor Machine and Porter Gulch Review.
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you include links in your comment the whole comment will likely be deleted as spam. You have been warned! Otherwise, dialoguing with these poems is encouraged.