The Open Book

A poem about sadness

Here is a poem that tastes like loneliness
the first time it makes a home
in your heart. You let it enter,
because we all start out open,
the folds of our bodies eventually closing in
only after we understand
the consequences of spaces, of why
we have bodies to contain ourselves,
and of why, sometimes, absence is necessary.
It will ache, but not just yet. Like being alone,
this poem will take its time, will try
to find its way amongst your tangled vessels. It is furtive,
like a smile you keep to yourself the first time you fall
in love, croire autant dans l’avenir
que n’avait pas eu lieu – believing
so much in the future. Taking everything:
gesture, letter, smile
as a sign for something wonderful. Here:
a poem about sadness,
the polite kind that visits you
in the silence of your room.
The one that prepares presents
to appease you – coats to warm you
for the night, creates necessary fictions –
wrapped up in ribbons,
disguised to leave you expecting
the arrival of someone
you mistook for happiness.

*Thanks to Alyssa (@cardinalfire) for the French translation. :)