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W Poem Oat BroRe '11?
Jay Roccaforte
When the song that daylight sings falls flat
and all we feel are the thorns of returned roses
Waking up isn’t the first thing on my To-do list in the morning
I.
You are some secret garden
That has never wanted to hide,
but was always too beautiful for just anyone
I guess I was the first person to see that.
You opened your gates to me
and offered your lavender hand
Like a simple “hello”
Whether sun or moon hang in the air,
the sky bends to your will as though
You created it.
Distant stars
create paintings above your hills.
The world that feeds you
is of your own design,
and I am just an observer.
II.
Your petals
Labeled with “I love you”s and “I love you not”’s
are my favorite game to play
The crickets that hide in your blowing leaves
Chirp in sync with my heart beat
and as I roll down the hills of your meadow.
I’ve never felt more steady.
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�The Poem That Broke Us
All day I could lay in this wild bed of Green
and feel the rays of the sun pour into us
like hot tea from a kettle
The roots of your tallest trees
have lived lives beyond mine,
and will remain in this garden
when I am lost to the sands of an hourglass.
I can only hope that when I die,
I can enrich your soil
With every grain of energy I have to give.
III.
I’m sorry
Maybe my love for you
Is what kept you hidden.
Maybe if some other passerby
had come to this garden,
they would have claimed themself
unworthy of this beauty
and let you continue to grow undisturbed.
How blind I was.
Crashing through your pastures
as though I provided this sunlight to you.
Resting on beds of flowers fed by hurricanes,
and acting like
the watering-can I call my love
can even begin to nourish you
How selfish of me to believe I was enough.
How selfish of me to pluck at these petals
As though I pollinated these flowers
She loves me
She loves me not
She loves to play music
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�The Poem That Broke Us
Her tire-swing melody is a waltz
that knows no rhythm
and the rope we hang from would snap
if I didn’t just let you sing.
Loud.
So again.
I’m sorry
IV
I remember your glades from outside this gate now.
I was banished from this garden,
but maybe that’s too dramatic.
After all, the lock that latches this gate speaks in a simple tongue:
“I’m not ready to see you yet.”
“Do you think you could just give me more time?”
“I want things to be okay again too.”
And you smile.
So how could I possibly intrude?
The tallest lamps that line your paths
are still visible to me,
and I promise you,
no amount of recklessness
could ever dull this glow.
I still smell lavender.
Even from here.
I know these flowers don’t exist for me.
For anyone.
Just know I never took them for granted.
199
�
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The Poem That Broke Us
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<div class="element-text"><em>Expression</em><span> </span>claims first North American rights to submissions selected for publication. All rights revert back to the author/artist after publication.</div>
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Date Created
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2023
Type
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Text
Creator
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Jay Roccaforte
Language
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ENG
Is Part Of
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Expression Literary and Arts Magazine, CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01 WyCaC US. Casper College Archives and Special Collections.
Identifier
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CCA 04.ii.c.2022.01_Exp_2023_Poetry_15
Format
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Searchable PDF
Publisher
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Casper College