Sit Up Straight

It’s a funny thing to know
that the pain will go away.
Not evaporate,
but sit in the other room
until we can chat amiably about
old friends and bad weather
and sip tea from ceramic mugs.
I will be more discomfited by
the overstuffed chairs than
my conversation partner,
and maybe his eyes
will lose the glassy stare
as a little dog
jaunts around a corner.
It’s a funny thing to know that there is no cosmic metaphor
which ensures that my heart and the sky
weep on the same day.
And it is not ironic that it is sunny
outside, either,
because they are unrelated,
my feelings and the weather.
No drop of poet’s genes is
infused with the tides or winds.
No flowers bloom because I feel joyous,
and no loons cry with the haunting
of lost love.
No, it’s a funny thing to know
that I can walk away,
that the pain is not eternal or essential
to myself.
It’s a funny thing, because
love was so much simpler when I
didn’t know.

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