Why Write?

I write for you who have ceased to love,

you whose possessions steal your full attention.

I want to tell you what you’re missing— you, polishing coins in counting houses,

you, mistaking your spouses for certified public accountants.

Yes, you with the big bank roll, I want to catch you unaware, to remind you of the day 

you will die. Just as you were born. Naked. Naked you will be.

I write for you who love so much, you’ve given away everything, even your coat, 

the coat you might have rolled up to soften the hard pavement serving as bed tonight.

You, the thin one holding up that stained Starbucks cup, asking for spare change,

I will put in my dollar and a spare poem. You shall be clothed. Be clothed.

This is an emergency! The fire's going out.

I write for those who no longer love. 

Even so, I write for you who love so much

that the cinders of your full-burnt heart must be relit now by another heart’s fire.

I want to strike a match on any kindling you have left, my friend,

and no friend of mine. Lovers and unloving, I write for you.

You who have ceased to love, I must learn to read my words aloud to you,

for you won’t bother to read them. To you, they’re spare change—

You hold no cup to me, yours always so hollowly full—

too full for change.

I must shout until your ears ring with the need to hear 

how beloved you are. How beloved, how to be loved.

Copyright 2017 -- Claire Germain Nail