Crevasse

Here’s my own attempt at writing poetry.

Crevasse: The word for empty space -Stephanie Chen

I talked to my friend last night
Of love and loss and the between.
Spent time on the words
That others match with objects.
Like how the word either creates the illusion
Of two things patiently waiting
To be denied. Her melancholia could not reach
Through to my mind, and so it was a morning deprived.
The mourning dove called through the window
In the broken darkness
Her pulse quickened and I moved
The tip of my finger’s skin
Over her clasped palm. Then I knew
The distance between us
Could not be closed with a moment
Intertwined. I tried to fix it, aligned my body
Next to her longer form and breathed
In when she heaved out. My lungs fell short upon realizing
The broad arena of her insides and the narrowness of mine.
All I could say was either because I could not place myself
Nor tie my feet to be parallel to her’s. I shall never know of the
Sorrow she cried that night. And she will never know of mine. I have found That people, like words, harbor only bits of essence that makes up
Souls and intent. I must stop now
in fear of pushing the walls on both sides
Further apart on either end.