I was contemplating ink,
watching it run out of my fountain
pen gushed: “str_ng_,”
a little gray mouse cloud scuttled
the sill of the window and disappeared
into the door frame - you knocked:
“Th t’s n t the w rst p rt f the st ry,”
will it be said again? you broke up -
or they broke up,
it broke, or
we broke up; the inky tears
imbued my pillow, and you.
that zeugma splashed water on my face before
anyone could see (the truth) or confirm the suspected,
or a suspicion would affirm
they speculate, already
know or just knew - just choose
to accept strange, (we assume we)
even when it is (not) missing ink.
The gray mouse cloud rained
a's and o’s to e's our transition
from str_ng_ and change
Jason Coombs is a poet spending his non-reading, studying and writing poetry time helping his wife build her chocolate business. His poem "Calor Humano" was selected for the University of the Arts London Mother Tongue anthology. Jason lives in Toronto, ON. with his wife, Mary, and their chocolate lab, Sophia.