Anointed
Posted by Garrett Carey | Filed under Poetry, Print
There were no mistakes. There were
no accidents. I spotted you
weeks before I stopped the car
and sprinted back
to nonchalantly collide
by the yawning 4am mouth
of Imperial’s, fragrant of
fresh conch and spitting grease
whenever it spoke.
You were standing
stately in army pants with
your full-lipped lover, almost ugly
as death, and snarling
just as ferociously when I kissed you.
I know she hated me there. She was
your jagged beach cliff sunrise,
your slit in stone and I never got
how such tragic beauty could be
so willfully wasted because I never
got beauty or
tragedy. I wonder
would you have loved again, would you
have learned to speak Hindi or
broken skin on the last lonely corner
of the world like
broken glass tucked into
the sand or
would you awake,
late one Sunday afternoon
and shudder to feel me
somnolently breathing the last unworthy
scraps of my humanity
into your ear?
