Wooden benches do learn
The shape of your warmth
I know one that did, one I met
In a summer's little park, a man
Who would wait for his beloved
She had his heart, and every day
She gave it to him, and took it back
For his heart or his beloved is fuzzy
Around the borders, but I know they
Met like twines in a cello or twigs
In a fire, their sparks spitting out
Touching others, catching them in
Surprise, wonder and jealousy, I was
One of these, until the day she did
Not return and his longing wailed
Silently everyday in the park, it was
An undesirable thing, this misery
That clung to every passer-by's
Nostrils until one day he stopped
Coming, someone told me he was
Buried without a heart, I was glad
In a way, and that evening I went
To the park bench with glee and
Popped my bum on it with great
Ceremony, I was uncomfortable as
I could ever be, I never knew that
A park bench could be so woody
Everyday I would curse it, the park
Bench that snobbed me, until today
When I realised it had been silently
Malleable for their love, and now
That their love had gone, the bench
Was stuck in this lovelessness
-
Chandni Girija
Day 21 of 30 | 30 Poems in 30 Days | National Poetry Writing Month #napowrimo
Photo by Robin McPherson
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