September 16th, 2008
Jessicca Daigle Vidrine
STILL LIFE
is the night I decided to drive back
to our old house.
I had danced all night in a bar
where someone slipped his arm around
my waist and whispered in my ear
that I was beautiful.
I thought about taking him to a motel
so I could hear more whispers
about how beautiful I am.
Instead I drove our old station wagon
for what felt like hours
until daylight opened up before me
illuminating the once familiar roads.I stood in front of our old house
in wonderment and tried to listen
for familiar sounds of you,
our old life behind the walls.
All I heard was silence
that even the sounds of mating
crickets couldn’t break.I stood staring, taking it all in
until my old life became visible—
and I saw your shoes
still forgotten by the front door
soiled, rotting with mud.
I recalled newspapers left unread
still folded next to cups of coffee
you never seemed to finish.
There is still that crack
in the brick of the front walkway,
a broken window in the garage,
and I wondered if you ever fixed
the faucet that dripped
for most of our marriage—
and the sounds of the lonely
crickets soon forgotten
finally broke the silence.
–from Rattle #28, Winter 2007
Jessicca,
God, but it hurts to read poetry that I know to be autobiographical — especially when it’s over a year old, and I learned only a few months ago about the “event.”
If you eventually see this, please, please, please, email me (at RRBrklyn@aol.com, if you’ve lost the address) in Brooklyn. And please don’t give up writing.
Russell
The images in that last strophe are achingly beautiful–each a symbol of a broken home, marriage, and heart. Well-penned.