The Sunday Poem: Katarina K. Guarascio... Bus Station

Leaving someone behind is never easy.  Having someone leave you is even harder...especially in a public place like a bus station.  In this season of comings and goings, this poem echoes through the waiting rooms across America.

Katarina K. Guarascio's most recent book, They Don't Make Memories Like That Anymore..., is available from Casa de Snapdragon, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble.

Bus Station

A little after ten thirty,
we sit at the bus station.

My leg thrown over yours,
head rests on shoulder,
your arm around me,
fingertips absently grazing my shoulder
as though a lifelong habit.

The stead of your stare bites my lower lip as
you tell me where the wild things are
in a cadence so calm it cripples well woven defenses.

I tire of hiding my insides
from my out.

Around eleven the terminal heaves
and you join the crowd
surrounding the departing door.

Without a second thought
I give you my last cigarette,
a kiss for the road,
and a handful of carefully chosen words.

I crawl inside you then,
build a home from the bones of your rib cage,
a bed out of cartilage that marked sternum,
pillow from soft tissue between vertebrae,
I fall asleep against the rhythm of your heart.

I leave a piece of myself there.

I arrive home alone,
shortly before midnight,
crawl into the black t-shirt
you left on my bedroom floor.

Wrap myself in your left over scent
and try not to think about how
the ice of your eyes melted me.

--Katarina K. Guarascio

Poetry submissions are welcome.  Email theditchrider@gmail.com.

Views: 191

Comment by Margaret Randall on December 18, 2011 at 3:12pm

I love the images in this poem, especially "the terminal heaves"--can see and feel it happening. Once again, thanks for bringing poetry into my Sunday, Jon, no matter where in the world I may be. Reading this in Chiang Mai, northern Thailand, bridges so many cultural divides.

Comment by Dee Cohen on December 18, 2011 at 5:50pm

This poem has many lovely images. I love how you set up residence in someone's heart, mind, and memory. You've really captured the pain of leaving, especially during this time of year when departures are many. Thanks for another great Sunday poem. Dee

Comment by Rich Boucher on December 19, 2011 at 8:39am

"I tire of hiding my insides
from my out."

Love this. 

Comment by Merimee Moffitt on January 15, 2012 at 6:05pm

wow--I love your openly passionate poems--your willingness to share the raw and the incredible imagination of imagery you have as toolbox--wonderful poem

!!  "a bed out of cartilage . . ."  very nice work indeed.

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