Tragedy

Tragedy

So imagination is the initiation of tragedy.

She knows nothing
of the infatuation,
has no comprehension
of the polar stares over snowy shoulders
and short shrift outbursts
from forlorn collisions inside,
that followed passing knowledge
of men lingering in her home past dawn.

So imagination is the initiation of tragedy.

And where then
do you put the
punctuations
of melancholy?
Here’s my
cold shoulder
and icy glare.
You know it’s
for you, but
there’s so much
fear that if you
acknowledge it,
you will be
accepting it,
no longer denying
the situation.

Because I understand sadness…