Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

A Difficult Woman to Reach

When you came home
I saw flowers in your hair.
Sweet smelling lilacs and tulips
in the garden off Larchmere.
And I lifted you
so you could get a peek inside
where you were supposed to be.
Somewhere along the line
you lost faith in God and me,
and forgot what I told you
about patience,
about the pace at which things travel.
You cleverly disguised this
as disinterest,
and I lost faith in what I believed.
You are easy to get ahold of,
but a difficult woman to reach.
I saw you,
a picture of you,
a physical facsimile
in my dining room.
A young woman who smiled at me.
Thin, glasses, the whole nine yards.
Though her nose was slightly crooked.
Her and I lived
as servant and served.
Perhaps this is how we were supposed to be
all this time.
I looked for her later
in her casual business attire, and I listened in to her words
of stepping out of your comfort zone
if there will ever be room for growth,
if there will ever be a future.
I thought this ironic,
I thought this beautiful woman ironic
because I could picture you saying that,
if only living it by a little margin.
I hung my hat on this,
this Hungarian woman’s speech.
You may be easy to get ahold of,
but you’re a difficult woman to reach.
I may as well be speaking a foreign language to you now.
I may as well speak German now,
because your translation can only be
purely intellectual.
This way there is no way
we can reach each other.
I cannot reach you,
and you cannot reach me.
I saw you,
I saw a reasonable facsimile of you
behind stained glass,
behind an opaque window.
I saw your sillouhette and nothing more.
I thought that was all
that was left.
I saw you like this before
I peeled your papier mache skin back.
When you came home you were young,
and vibrant.
Still lithe and sexy.
It’s been nearly two years
and Cleveland has aged you,
I saw it in your face
and I saw it in your eyes
the last time I briefly glimpsed you.
The last time I glimpsed you, you smiled halfheartedly
and so did I.
We are easy people to make smile,
but difficult people to reach.

About This Poem

About the Author

More from this author

Comments

C

Conect11

18 years 11 months ago

re: You Are

That is an interesting observation, Joe. I see alot of what you're saying, I do agree that I have to live, learn, and write more. We all do. When we stop, we are dead, at least to ourselves. I don't own an ipod, nor do I listen to Britney Britney or really any other pop, but I think you were speaking more metaphorically anyways. I know you mentioned we live in a world of soundbites now, I try to ignore that when possible, but the world is a powerful place with a strong current. Your observations are greatly appreciated, though.
F

follettvogue

18 years 7 months ago

your poem

from paula buckenham. loved this poem, i saw many images evolve from the words as i was reading this poem, much sensuality between those lines but beauty too, looking forward to reading more of your poems .love paula.