Sunday, August 2


one day you shall come in,
with all the people you can find
and discover in my room
the acrid smell of gas and love
i do not say goodbyes i know
i never did
even as a little girl,
my hatred for those waving, flailing arms?
it persists.
i might not leave a note,
then i might
it shall all depend on our luck and my literary moods.
i will be found clean and happy-
my eyes may wear a surprised view
but i tell you, i will be happy,
like i never was
that which is not momentary and not momentary.
i will be tidy for a change
and arrange my books in rows,
leave my clothes in closets and no lights on.
it will be some occasion
may be i shall celebrate it with wine yesterday
yes, i know you won't.
you will cry and scream and call me ungrateful
and unconcerned and ruthless and unemotional
i am, i am.
but watch me in my joy
and mutter me wishes,
for i am taking this forward,
me and this life.