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My
Song
I
intend to reach home
The day after tomorrow;
It’s been a long spell.
My work, now complete,
I can finally think
Of loving you again.
You
find it curious,
Perhaps, even alarming;
This process of compartmentalization
By which I live.
You say it’s something I choose,
But the nature of the job—
The sheer grind and toil…
Well, we’ve gone over this
Too often to believe
Either of us might consider
Redefining our positions.
And
each time I leave
I
know there’s the chance
You won’t decide to stay.
I’ll return to an empty house
And recall the small things
Which remind me of you,
As I bump tediously
Across this unforgiving road.
Somewhere
in September’s night
I hear the sound of crickets
And imagine the lamentation
They must feel to carry on
With all that constant clicking
And chirping to keep them company.
Would you love me any more
If that were my song?
—Bart
Edelman
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