The 56 Poem by Ben Partenay

Listen to me. I miss the creativity
of the clouds and how you always
had a shape for them, a man fishing
in a bathtub was my favorite and you
painted it with your finger and even
let me touch you. How were we so
young back then, it was only a year
days and days ago and it feels like
I’ve lived and died and tried again. You
are not alone. I told you that every day.
You believed it sometimes and told me
how you used to pick flowers and dry them
and you had boxes and boxes of dead
colors and how they made you sad enough
to cry but you didn’t because someone
had picked you and you were dried up
and had only a little color left. Listen
to me. Your color was my favorite and
I told you this too and you kissed me
underneath street lamps and above us the
moths died in hundreds and I believed
that’s how love was born. Listen to me.
I have been down to where the ocean
is only a puddle and the waves are breaths
from children’s cheeks and I have
felt the pain of the constant hunt for
the fox that means something. Listen
to me. There are monsters inside
of the truth. There are no ways to
become a part of someone only words
can. A cloud comes, a hat pulled low
over the eyes. Listen to me. I am alone
and this bus is far from home, still
50 miles more to Tallahassee.