Today’s prompt (which you can read here) asked us to pick a word from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows and write a poem about it.
The word I picked was:
n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored-an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand.
I also decided to try writing a duplex form poem as some of my fellow NaPoWriMo-ers were doing so. If you want to know what a duplex poem is click here.
It was when you said that you really quite like capers.
You! Who always ordered scrambled egg in Barcelona,
and I liked that you ordered scrambled egg in Barcelona,
that you make your chilli con carne without any chilli.
It’s quite tasty, actually, without those dratted chillis,
if a tad plain; a signature dish that quietly whispers ‘tame’,
and yes, you do edge towards the plain side, but you tamed
my heart anyway; I felt safe with your fear of garlic;
because it’s a biddable heart that holds a fear of garlic,
that won’t drink over the units, won’t have puddings and starters,
not drinking much means you can drive us home, for starters,
and be up in the bright hour to cook a full English.
It’s a while, now I think of it, since I’ve had a full English:
long before that day when you said you quite like capers.
Header Image Photo by Artem Beliaikin on <a href=”https://www.pexels.com/photo/garlic-in-bucket-1087947/” rel=”nofollow”>Pexels.com</a>