Matter in Search of Form

Got up in the morning,
Still reeling from
Night visions

Awoke to a quiet home
Empty kitchen
New tigerwood floors
Wistfully filled up my expectations
Raising up my hopes
Will she like them?

Sixteen miles of Tehachapi Pass
Still winding in my head
From yesterday’s drive
I wash my face in still waters of love
Pausing now and then,
To hear her speak

Already 2017 is almost here, fast
Already 2016 is almost gone, fast
I guess I’ll still sit here,
By her door step, while she
Cleans her dishes, washes her clothes,
Laughs at her husband’s
Smeared hands with
Black stripes of Cherry Blossom
(“Black,” “PRESS HERE”)

“Like my tigerwood floors,”
I mumbled to myself,
Nearly crashing through
Nearly calling her out

I know it’s all history now
But look, what an old soul she is

The day wore on
I unpacked my bags
Cleaned my dishes, washed my clothes
Smiled at your picture
Walked around my empty house
Drifted into tomorrow’s needs
And wrote poetry
Pedantic as me,
Not fantastic as you

Raj Karamchedu