"conflictions" poems - Hello Poetry

I am the first page of a well-loved novel, But often the first one ignored, Dog-eared and transparent at the corners From the touch of one too many hands And witness to the enterprising twist of a smile As my readers are privileged to only pieces of me. You, like the binding that surrounds me, Enclose and encircle all that I am. Write a novel Under my skin. I’ve falsified too many smiles, Sacrificed even the best of myself for ignorant Delusions of caressing hands That take and abuse my corners. The used bookstore on the corner Of Middlebury Marbleworks, Otter Creek and window-origami — My salvation and river-penance. Seek my story with hands That feel to comprehend, with novel Softness and a tenderness that ignores My pleading glances and indecisive smiles As you speak in hush-whispers. Smile With your eyes as you touch my spine — corner Me at the exit. I want you to ignore Faults, make peace with flaws that inhabit me Like poetry misplaced within a novel, Or willow branches falling too low, tired hands. I memorized the shape of your hands The first time we danced to Chaplin’s “Smile,” And wrote on the broadness of your shoulders a novel Of my sins, apologies stretching to your corners In villanelles — repeating refrains. It took all of me To tell you what I could no longer ignore. Because once you start to ignore Conflictions that exist in the nerve-endings of your hands, What you feel becomes a burden. For me, Sand ran out of the hourglass when our smiles Stopped touching — and at the corner Of Maple Street and Printer’s Alley, I said goodbye, our novelty Gone. Still, I find it hard to ignore what used to be when you smile As you look at her, your hands on her back in the corner Of the room. You remain my unfinished novel.

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Mar 8, 2015

Mar 8, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC

emily-schumann

Atelophobia, Last Fall

I am the first page of a well-loved novel, But often the first one ignored, Dog-eared and transparent at the corners From the touch of one too many hands And witness to the enterprising twist of a smile As my readers are privileged to only pieces of me. You, like the binding that surrounds me, Enclose and encircle all that I am. Write a novel Under my skin. I’ve falsified too many smiles, Sacrificed even the best of myself for ignorant Delusions of caressing hands That take and abuse my corners. The used bookstore on the corner Of Middlebury Marbleworks, Otter Creek and window-origami — My salvation and river-penance. Seek my story with hands That feel to comprehend, with novel Softness and a tenderness that ignores My pleading glances and indecisive smiles As you speak in hush-whispers. Smile With your eyes as you touch my spine — corner Me at the exit. I want you to ignore Faults, make peace with flaws that inhabit me Like poetry misplaced within a novel, Or willow branches falling too low, tired hands. I memorized the shape of your hands The first time we danced to Chaplin’s “Smile,” And wrote on the broadness of your shoulders a novel Of my sins, apologies stretching to your corners In villanelles — repeating refrains. It took all of me To tell you what I could no longer ignore. Because once you start to ignore Conflictions that exist in the nerve-endings of your hands, What you feel becomes a burden. For me, Sand ran out of the hourglass when our smiles Stopped touching — and at the corner Of Maple Street and Printer’s Alley, I said goodbye, our novelty Gone. Still, I find it hard to ignore what used to be when you smile As you look at her, your hands on her back in the corner Of the room. You remain my unfinished novel.