A Poem for Robin

I am writing a poem for you, Robin,

Because I have to write a poem for someone,

And I am out of ideas.

Tonight I started a grease fire in my kitchen.

Great white clouds of smoke, like ghosts

Made my eyes water, and I opened all the windows.

The moon was there,

Looking at me.

It looked like you, looking at me

From the outside of a window. I remember.


Do you think I don’t remember? Of course I do.

Fire! I kept the oven closed.

It burned itself out – No more fuel, no more air,

Nothing left but smoke hanging,

Irritating the walls, hurting my insides, making me squirm and seem to cry.

I’m tearing up.

I had a white dress on. Do you think I don’t remember?

It was warm and dark.

The kitchen is warm and dark, and filled with clouds,

Like summer.

Your arms were warm and it was dark.

Your skin was warm and it was dark.

It was warm and dark, like summer.

Do you think I don't remember?

I'm choking.

I'm out of ideas.

Standing at the window, breathing deep.

Dinner's ruined. Sorry, sorry.

Maybe we'd better go out instead. Leave the windows open, for the smoke.

Turn on the fan, chase out the ghosts.

Sorry, sorry. I remember

Nights and moons and words and whiskey and you, Robin, and tonight

I nearly burned down my apartment

Making dinner. Not sure why I thought about it.

Go somewhere, turn out the light. Fire's dying in the oven.

Warm, warm, warm and dark.

I remember. I want you to know.

Not that there's any point. I doubt it troubles you much.

But I have to write a poem for someone.

That's just how these things work.

I am writing a poem for you, Robin.

No big deal. Nothing special.

Just warm, and dark, and you and me.

Warm and dark

And you and me.

Submitted by Cecilia