Small

She told me
    I feel all alone
    when you hold me
I
    thought of small things
        colder than you could make out
    very small and they do not
    touch at all
sub-atomic
    irony of the universe
    nothing ever touches in the
    sub-atomic
pickles
    she felt like pickles
        Would I be
        kind enough to
        get them?
    sub-atomic pickles
I’m random bleep in and
    out of her
    view Why would she feel all            alone
        when I am closest
    to her?
life isn’t fun in
    her eyes cried herself to sleep
    many nights
I feel so tiny in her universe of
    boredom and malaise
        the physical psychology of topology
    but the bedroom is small enough
    for just the bed and
    a small radio that
    she turns
    on yellowed light making her fingertips
    gloat
Why alone?
    can’t I touch you?
        feeling the force that
        pushes her away as I
        try to get closer
    tin sounds and static
she bleeds and bleeds for sin or
    sacrifice
        I knew this
        years ago
        I knew her cause
    the blame she gave herself
    and lets it slump between
    her shoulder blades now frozen blue
    in the dark room for one
Not too
    little to care for another
    groan ups and tired eyes still seeing
    me apart
loneliness?
    Yeah, but who better
    to be alone with,
        she laughs
    I laugh with her
        tonight
    but softly
        and with static

18 October 1999 © Jonathan Russell