My Books [Poetry]

This is a poem by John Tustin.

I received my books

That you mailed to me,

Being in such a hurry 

To make disappear the proof I exist

From your home

Once and for all.

Thank you for storing them.

When the package arrived I placed it on my table

And I opened the box.

I tore it open and removed every book,

Shaking them out,

Leafing through them,

Searching for any communication

From you:

But nothing.

I expected that. 

I think about you when I am at work,

When I am trying to sleep.

You inhabit most dreams.

I write poems about you

As I drink away the stinging moonlight

That creeps into this otherwise

Black room.

I still expected that.

Anyway, 

I sent you a check for $25

To cover the postage.

Please cash it.

I also ask you delete my emails, my texts, my photographs.

Throw out my letters, the hundreds of poems

I wrote for and gave to you,

The books that published the poems I wrote about you

That I dutifully provided you a copy.

I want you to totally exorcise me from your life.

At least cash the check,

It will help me move forward.

Remove every vestige of my love, devotion,

Existence to you.

Just do it.

If you haven’t already. 

You should go so far as to burn the sheets

Of your bed

And board up the window you used to look out from

When you cast your eyes upon the breaking water

And thought about how I must be

Thinking about you,

As I surely must have been

And still do.


John Tustin began writing poetry again dozen years ago and his poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals, online and in print. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

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