No Hurry
By Darren Bifford
for I.O
You piled in the center of your kitchen
most of the junk from ten years that
hadn’t been taken for debts. What you own,
though, is negligible: stacks of lit mags
cropped from the office, movie posters,
bent-up novels, a few poetry books.
Cds from the ancient age of cds. Only
the pictures, you said, you were keeping;
and of them, too, I could take my pick
if any caught my eye. Oh, and the garbage-
bags full of clothes that didn’t fit. I had
no need for any of it. It’s just that pile
that stays with me like a grainy scene
of a film on pause. It’s that pile I see
you preparing for a bonfire; the kindling
of your life crashed together into one kitchen-
sized blow. And from where I stand this’ll be
no slow burn; but the quick extinguishment
of ten years, three girlfriends, two degrees.
It’s hard to know the thing we mean
when we exit in a hurry, either too soon
or too late, with no awards or ring;
but it’s a kind of ripeness, rightly timed,
that departure brings, and what we hunt:
that full part of a pint left past closing;
a sign that reads: go bereft and go now,
and now. This is just a start.
Darren Bifford checks the smoke alarms.
Published On: June 21, 2010
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/100621a.htm
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