Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks August 2015 (Collaboration) | Page 13

Leftover Love
Caleb Brennan
I have thrust this leftover love out,
and I find it still dredged at the end
of my drinks. It lingers in the
natural oils of pages or bed sheets.
It comes out in sweats. It never ends.
It works like traffic lights, going slow
but never ending. It has no place with me.
It does not fit in drawers or sit on shelves.
The heart is no suitable place for it.
It taints normality. I can sometimes see it,
in the place it came. Walking the streets,
with some new love. Forgetting about me.
Why does it sit in front of me when I’m lonely,
and come calling back in the witching hours
like old souls returning to Ithaca. Tell me,
when can the soul pour itself into a box,
pick its wounds, pray for heartache
and shed itself. When can the heart
finally digest this bad medicine.

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