Three Prose Poems by Lauren DiGiacomo

Those That Came Before You

I walked by a cemetery the other day. It was massive, taking up blocks, stretching as wide as my gaze would reach. I wanted to go inside and mourn at each stone, look at the deaths and births of so many that came before me. I wanted to unlock the secret of life, put my hand to the grass and feel the earth shake beneath me. I wanted you and I to watch the sunset together while we sat on the mausoleum steps. And we wouldn’t have to say a single thing, because you would reach for my hand, and we would just know.

Where I Lay My Head

This bed knows me; it feels the shape of my body and the curve of my spine, my wanting. It has seen me through bad nights and great nights. This mattress was there when the love of my life became just another man, and when I decided that new love would be easy to find. The salt of my tears and the stain of sickness can be felt, as I nursed my own way through life and its hardships, at times when there was no one to lean on but me. Pillows have been squeezed tight with a wish, eyes clamped shut. The sheets are changed but the memories stay. The headboard creaks with knowledge. How I miss my best friend.

Boredom

Like placing your hand in your pocket and rooting for gum, a mitten, anything to keep you occupied. Coming up short on activities, ideas, people, revelations. Inspiration has to be somewhere: in the air, on the petal of a flower, if you could only reach out and grab it. Like waving an empty hand and trying to make magic appear.