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What you find in a dark stairway


VaderOnIce

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What you find in a dark stairway

 

This girl

I used

to know

asked me what

makes a poem

a poem.

I said

it is prose

tilted

to mimic

lyric.

 

I could've said

that poetry

was the time

I followed

her up a dark and cold

fake wood paneled

stairway

luggage dragging

clump clump clump

on each step.

The miles between

us left behind

like the cliches

you rip out of

poems to make them

hard.

 

But I didn't say

that

not knowing her

anymore

not knowing if

maybe she liked haiku

now.

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