My Silent Stalker

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My Silent Stalker

 

My Silent Stalker

I wake before the alarm again.
Another restless night.

The first thing that I am consciously aware of as I come to life is the sound of her breathing.
She is here again, lying next to me in my bed.
I admire her profile silhouetted against the bedroom window.
I reach out to touch her.
She pulls away.
I speak to her.
She does not respond.
I plead with her.
Nothing.
It is always the same.

I linger in bed as long as possible.
I dread the start of another day.
I think of strategies to deal with my silent menace.
I have tried them all.

I gently slide out of bed, hoping to leave her there…sleeping.

I move silently to the bathroom.
I brush my teeth.
She is there.
I shave.
She is there.
I shower.
She is there too.
She is everywhere.

On my way to the office I drop my son at school.
She replaces him in the seat next to me.
She silently reminds me of all of the ways I mistreated her.
Of the things I should have done differently.
Of the painful regrets.
Of all of the unbelievable times we shared .
That is the most painful reminder of all.

I light a cigarette, hoping that the smoke will drive her away.
I light another.
And another.
She is still there.

I arrive at work, hoping to elude her in the chaos of the office.
She does not like the distractions, and gives me some space.
Briefly.
Hiding in the shadows.

My girl invites me to lunch.
I take advantage of my stalkers distraction and sneak out the door.
So far so good.
I see my girl.
We kiss.
We make small talk.
Still no stalker.

Then, I hear it.
I hear her laughter.
I hear her voice.
She has found me. 

I turn to look, and she is there.
Taunting me.
Distracting me.
Commanding my attention.

My companion asks me what is wrong.
She is not aware of my silent stalker.
She cannot see her.
I cannot tell her.
She would not understand.

In the afternoon my girl and I decide to go for a hike.
I am certain that I can elude my stalker in the serenity of the mountain trail.
Surely she cannot find me here.
But, she is too sinister to let me be.
She arrives, walking directly between us.
I ask her to leave.
She does not listen.
I cannot see my companion.
My stalker is in the way.

That evening I sit alone at home.
But yet I am not alone.
My stalker is there, as always, lying on the couch across the room.

How long will this continue.
"It takes time.”
"It is all in your head."
"Just let go."

My stalker is stronger than I am.

I lie in bed.
I try to think of strategies to deal with my silent menace.
The menace that now sleeps beside me in my bed.
I long to caress her.
I reach out.
She pulls away.
It is always the same.

As I drift off into blissful sleep, I can still hear her breathing.
Still smell her skin.
Still feel the warmth of her body next to mine.
Still hear her laughter.

There is no escape.

Tomorrow is another day.

It is always the same.

My Stalker and I.

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

Moodius’s Poems (1)

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