People, places, and things evoke feelings. This is my latest poem, untitled as of yet:
The closet is a mishmash of jeans & suits and t-shirts.
Bookshelves boast Faulkner & Salinger & Updike.
Improper Bostonian, Newsweek, & The New Yorker
stake out territory on the coffee table.
A little messy.
The bed is made.
Wet towels dampen the black & white comforter.
Wrinkled clothes lay discarded in a heap.
Drawers are sorted.
Able to prioritize.
A little hurried.
The kitchen sparkles.
The fridge is full, but not to overflowing,
with leftovers of the homemade variety.
The dishwasher whirs.
A lone bowl on the counter, slick with milk,
indicates cereal for breakfast.
In all these rooms,
shades of humanity.
Photographs & Paintings,
Books & Journals,
I could live and love amongst these remnants.
I have struggled a lot with the last line. Originally I wrote, "I could live amongst these remnants and love this life." I then changed it to, "I could live here and love." Eventually I settled on "I could live and love amongst these remnants." Most interesting to me is how rearranging the same words or restructuring the same thoughts can change the meaning of the entire poem. Any thoughts or suggestions?