By accident, believe me,
I found your diary.
It opened of itself
in my death-by-knowledge hands.
I looked out the innocent window
but the reflection in the glass
was overpoweringly legible.
I couldn’t shut my eyes
(ophthalmologist’s orders)
and the pages barged into
my poorly defended consciousness.
I never knew that you struggled too
much more than I do
with the placid beige
we’ve painted the showroom walls
of our long-toothed cohabitation.
I never knew that you
like me were dreaming
of a splashy yellow wedding
expense-be-damned-
all-in-ceremony
that our false, trendy tongues mocked
to each other’s face.
Oh God, I never knew that you,
with all your anarchist tattoos
were so traditional;
that you were waiting for
those hokey Hollywood words
just as long as I have been longing
for the genuflected proposal:
“will you marry me?”
Lord, what kind of couple are we
when so much of our lives
are written so secretly?
John Montague
Posted at 07:17h, 23 JulyBrilliant
John J. Pungente, SJ
Posted at 08:38h, 23 JulySincere apologies to Greg Kenned, SJ. A computer glitch resulted in attributing the poem to me. The author is – indeed – Greg Kennedy, SJ.
Peter Bisson
Posted at 10:31h, 23 JulyThank you Greg!!
Eric Jensen, I'm often a robot
Posted at 15:28h, 23 JulyAnd there I was, almost convinced that it was by John Pungente!
Jenny Cafiso
Posted at 08:54h, 24 Julybeautiful. Thank you Greg