I...A Circle And A Line Poem by Emaleth Eternity

He’ll speak of love or paint a smile
On the canvass and scream
“honey, look what I did”

Just like he were a small child
Bringing home a picture of an unidentifiable thing
That mother will proudly glue on the fridge

Then he’ll take a sip of burning coffee
And light another compact cancer
Elegantly breathe it in.

And as stupid as he usually tends to be
He’ll say for god knows which time
“By the time I get lungs cancer

They’ll grow and sell lungs
In the groceries store
Just down behind a corner”

And I stand by the door
Tightly pressing my hand on my heart
As the words rack through my mind

“Let’s dance”, he says out of the blue
And takes a brush and paints us in motion
And says: “look, this here is you”

I am all lines and an occasional circle
And he’s a smudge on the paper.
But he clasps my hand

“You don’t like it” again a child behind the man
“Of course I do, hun” I hear myself say
Praying the charade would end

What does it matter
Whether he is a tormented artist
Or just tormented?

He smiles, as if he knows what I think.
His canvass stares at me with just one red dot
Like of a gun shot.

Transfixed in the moment
Breathing deeply to steady myself
I realize that either way you twist it…

He matters the most, even if in his eyes
I am nothing but
An occasional circle

And some lines.