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Blog March Day 7: She said he'd never leave - Robin Renée

She said he’d never leave

She said he’d never leave

Weaving lives at ninety-five, sweet, sunny porch smiles

now and someday one long arc

of legend, on the mod couch she wove a tale of this union.

She smiled and said he’d never leave.

She said he’d never leave through the calm

hotel suite, bare-bones campfire, hand-holding walk

about town, family-style social creatures living

Grand chariot love

Bright books hauling brain lust, days of art

Occupied, rapt in justice and adventure

And when the coffee is nearly warm, drunk late

just past sticky sweet morning fusion,

he will stay, New Year’s Day, groggy, not quite drunk love

In twos, threes, skin to wild skin breathless,

way past the end of the party

Of course, he will stay

As long as there is the day-to-day, the middle of things

Trees in the neighborhood, Atlantic Ocean cuddled up

in close memory, a part of, apart from this


While there is a phone to find, keys to recover,

while there is Sunday afternoon

karaoke, downtime, movie time, time

for costume or crisis

He’d never leave while there is breakfast to be made

and decent clothes, straw man jacket for work,


He will stay when there is music but he will not sing

He will never leave when there have been storms

He will rake stray paper, branches,

when there are groceries, guesswork, gaslit kids

to shuttle in the rain

He will stay when it’s birthday dinnertime

and there are guests arriving and there are

green paper plates and plastered teeth-frames

He will stay when the clock strikes twenty

years, when being and seeming to be fade

to off-white veneer

as long as there is long memory and fool’s gold

When he fears his own voice above a whisper, hand towel, misfolded

DNA inferior, the table, the tirade, the laundry undone,

the tickets unpaid, solitary labor, when he fears

pleasure, when he asks, post-coitus, did I do something wrong

When the walls are peeling with steely punishment

he turns back with warm milk and a promise

How can I do better, he wants to know

Just beyond the window

open love left on the vine

When there are two furious eyes to scythe

his cracked open soul, probing

unpredictable, unblinking

at what he did do, didn’t do

He is a guilty yolk, there to be

scooped out, emptied.

She said he’d never leave.

When the feces on your floor has been seen

And can’t be unseen

but must not be seen

must be corralled, fenced off, cleaned up

must not be touched

must be forgotten

could be the shit seed

for new life


the greatest prayer may be “Loka Samasta Sukhino Bhavantu

the greatest curse, “As you were.”

Sanskrit: May all beings everywhere be happy and free.


old building, overgrown, Atco Avenue, Atco NJ

Thank you for reading and taking part in Blog March. Tomorrow, head over to Defending Axl Rose to see what Jason Wendleton, one of my favorite music bloggers, has to say about the power of music to build bridges.

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