Two Poets Should Never Be in Love
Saru Potturi
Saru Potturi
I fell asleep with my sweater still on, under the weight of my comforter.
When I woke up I was flushed with warmth, eyes crusted over
Pillow-indentations crisscrossing across my face like scars
From a particularly vicious cat. Your cat’s not vicious, though.
She mostly just doesn’t care, minds her own business
Slinks off by herself while you and I stand on your balcony
Together, me smoking, you silently hating that I smoke.
When I woke up I was flushed with warmth, eyes crusted over
Pillow-indentations crisscrossing across my face like scars
From a particularly vicious cat. Your cat’s not vicious, though.
She mostly just doesn’t care, minds her own business
Slinks off by herself while you and I stand on your balcony
Together, me smoking, you silently hating that I smoke.
Not that you smoke. I hate the cigarette stubs you leave
On the flat metal railing, too low—for me—just right for you
But we’ve both got equal chances of falling, you perched on top
Like a bird of prey, legs folded, and me swaying with the wind
Teetering in place, tall and thin as a waif. A lone scarecrow
In a field that yields no harvest, nothing but weeds for miles
I want to be understood, even just a little bit. All this to say
I hate that you smoke like I hate the things that you weave.
And I hate that you weave. You know I do. You know I want
To put my foot through the loom and feel it splinter my feet.
On the flat metal railing, too low—for me—just right for you
But we’ve both got equal chances of falling, you perched on top
Like a bird of prey, legs folded, and me swaying with the wind
Teetering in place, tall and thin as a waif. A lone scarecrow
In a field that yields no harvest, nothing but weeds for miles
I want to be understood, even just a little bit. All this to say
I hate that you smoke like I hate the things that you weave.
And I hate that you weave. You know I do. You know I want
To put my foot through the loom and feel it splinter my feet.
I know. I’ve known. I never stop weaving, slicing my fingers on the thread
But you’re a liar, you don’t hate the things I weave or even that
I weave, you just hate the people—though that’s putting it kindly--
Who grab at each tapestry with greedy hands, hand them out
Like pamphlets, praise the printing press that shat them out
While I pick at my deformed cuticles, refuse payment, wonder
When I can leave and go back to wherever you are. I exist
In two places—I hear you, I always hear you, I’ve been burning
All kinds of things, silk and chiffon and painting after painting
In the slim hope that the oil will keep you warm. You got a light?
But you’re a liar, you don’t hate the things I weave or even that
I weave, you just hate the people—though that’s putting it kindly--
Who grab at each tapestry with greedy hands, hand them out
Like pamphlets, praise the printing press that shat them out
While I pick at my deformed cuticles, refuse payment, wonder
When I can leave and go back to wherever you are. I exist
In two places—I hear you, I always hear you, I’ve been burning
All kinds of things, silk and chiffon and painting after painting
In the slim hope that the oil will keep you warm. You got a light?
I always do. Sitting snug at the bottom of my pocket, never for me
When it’s cold enough that your round shoulders hike up
We go back into the house, my house, with the wooden floors
Scratched up from the cat’s unclipped claws, untrimmed nails
Nails sticking out of every wall, empty of frames, just in case.
I flushed your cigarettes while you were asleep, watched them
Turn round and round and disappear down the drain.
When it’s cold enough that your round shoulders hike up
We go back into the house, my house, with the wooden floors
Scratched up from the cat’s unclipped claws, untrimmed nails
Nails sticking out of every wall, empty of frames, just in case.
I flushed your cigarettes while you were asleep, watched them
Turn round and round and disappear down the drain.
Saru Potturi (PO '24) is a poetwriter currently exploring ars poetica, identity assertion, and bodily functions.