• Skip to main content
  • Skip to secondary navigation
  • Skip to primary sidebar

Painted Bride Quarterly

  • About
    • About PBQ
    • People
  • Issues
    • Current Issue
    • Past Issues
    • Print Annuals
  • Podcast
    • Latest Podcast
    • All Podcasts
  • News & Events
  • Submit
  • Shop
  • Fiction
  • Poetry
  • Prose
  • Contributors
  • Current Issue

James Ellenberger: Suburban Love Poem

August 14, 2017 by PBQ Leave a Comment

The roses wilt and congregate,
stuffy as priests, on the kitchen table.
So much of our love
is metaphorical. Was. Why not this?

Last night I got high
and sat at the edge of the pool
where entire galaxies
are flung like a grindstone’s fire.

I slept on the lawn. It was absurd.
What did the neighbors think?
Some mornings I watch a neighbor
(I won’t say who) undress; she cracks

the blinds so thinly. She isn’t more
than a fist of wren feathers.

If I throw the roses in the trash,
you’ll tell the therapist. He’ll look
at me, then back at you, his head
staggering like a sprinkler.

The days are too long
when you’re neither young nor old.
I flip through magazines
like our house is a waiting room.

While you’re at work, an ellipsis
of crows perches the electric lines
and crickets bury sharp songs
among the azaleas. I sometimes drink

at noon, on the porch. I notice how men
look at their wristwatches
like they once looked at their wives.

Filed Under: Contributors 93, Issue 93, Poetry, Poetry 93 Tagged With: Contributors 93, Issue 93, James Ellenberger, Poetry, Poetry 93

Reader Interactions

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Primary Sidebar

Recent News & Events

PBQ March Slam Session!

PBQ @ the Pen & Pencil!

PBQ Slam Session!

Slam Session with PBQ!

PBQ @ Poetry Tent!

© 2020 Painted Bride Quarterly. Contact PBQ: info@pbqmag.org