Catherine Zickgraf

You at the Gate

Should you ever decide
to stop by the house,
you’ll find me
where you left me
when you drove away.

Here on our porch
for much of the night,
I turn cigarettes into piles
of ash and sit
rocking,
rocking-
you’re
out there
somewhere.

Though the summer dust freezes
under snow globe glitter,
it will rise again when
the heat returns.

Maybe one day you’ll hang
that left through our gate
and rattle up the gravel
in your teal Toyota.

I’ll bow my head
against your neck,
your gentle frame in
my tingling arms.
I never really
deserved you anyway.

I know I was the faithless one:
betraying our rings,
believing their lies,
raiding your drawers
with my distrust.

You collected your things,
but mine are still strewn.
I can’t seem to fix
what’s so thoroughly broken.

3 Responses

  1. Hello Catherine I came upon your work while looking at perpetual mag. I am the next featured poet on perpetual. I’d like to say briefly that your poetry is beautiful and breathtakingly virtuous.

    I think the ins and outs of motherhood can be understood as evidence in your poetry. Yet you give yourself no credit and see yourself as a destroyer in this poem. When I have to say your the creator of something that doesn’t wilt or fail, that’s the comfort I have in my writing. You have done so well I urge you to write further.

  2. Your poetry is very different than mine, that’s probably why i like it so much. I don’t think i would be capable of creating something with a similar style (but i will give it a damn good try) yet the depth of both our works is very similar. It is a pleasure to read your poetry, always.
    Regards
    Gerard

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