Roller over my lungs
Squeezes tears

If we were real
I wouldn’t let you let me leave

Crawl on sheets to you
Arms hold me up, let me fall
In love

Tucked in
Neatly folded

Secured and fitting
Inside you
Where humans go
Where we want to stay
Maybe we are
And this is a monument
To the inside of us

But tears pressed
Onto sheets
Prove us real
Until dried
Leaving little salty spots
No one will notice

About Margo Rowder

By trade, I'm Social Media Manager for the Television Academy, which taps into my love for filmmaking, design, and storytelling. My latest personal projects include a YA speculative fiction manuscript, 30 Decibels, and a new (not YA) romantic dramedy called SUPPORT.
This entry was posted in Charter Membership, Poems, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Monument

  1. Jodi MacArthur says:

    Yay! A Margo Poem. It’s been awhile, girl. And you don’t disappoint with your the bedsheets romp. Although, there is more than just lust here. The first and last stanza are like a pondering of what makes us real, and what can bring us life. Well written, and plenty to think on here. Good to read you!

  2. lisagailgreen says:

    NICE. What else can I say? You always write such beautiful poems.

  3. I like it too! The first and last stanza were very cool. Where tears come from and where they end up. Liked even how things are being tucked and folded in the middle. I thought of a bed being made for some reason or the world a cat sees rushing under blankets to have them parachute down

    • Oh, wow. Caught – the cat, from its own whim. I like that, Dave!
      Tears are a vulnerability we try so hard to mask. I think sometimes they’re too easy to wipe away.
      I’m glad you enjoyed this.

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