One of my past creative writing teachers always made the distinction between personal poetry and public poetry – the former is usually not very good, but a lot of times it’s something that is necessary in order to get stuff out. I don’t really ever post the personal poetry I write on here, because for the most part it’s not very good. But I think sometimes it is good to put that out there, if not just as a means to work through stuff.
I am walking my dog in the yard
of the boy I might still love.
I am there to have dinner with his family.
His mother is glow-cheeked with white wine,
stepfather nuzzling the dog
with the palm of his hand.
I can see him through porch screens,
shoulders curving crescents over piano keys.
I hope he is singing something to say he loves me
again, I know he is not.
