Bitter

[ScarletMornings]

We calmly sit across from each other
separated by the elegant oak table,
an heirloom of your prestigious name
and I sip my cup of tea
I keep adding lumps of sugar to mask the faintly bitter taste of it
until all I'm drinking is sweet sugar water,
saccharine as your kisses were once
back when we had breakfast in bed
meanwhile you hide behind your newspaper
and its bitter headlines declaim a cold world
in stark black and white boxes
as darkly black as your hair,
as pristinely white as your shirt
both neat and immaculate and unreachable
though we sit just across from each other

After I greedily savor the precious sweetness,
I rise gracefully from the table without you even looking up
and I wander through satire soaked walls
that have absorbed our words, our feelings
and reflected them, sharper and sardonic, tenfold
I’ve always heard that people were bitter
but I never realized just what that meant
now I understand that the living definition is so much more cruel
than the mere words Webster came up with
it trains and teaches you in every subtle nuance the word can possibly have,
every single emotion and intonation and variation the word can take on
if wielded correctly, a word is sharper than even the best honed blade
and you have always been an expert swordsman,
and now, an expert teacher in the art of swordplay…
or is it word?

We meet each other again
polite, formal strangers seated across an oak table
infinitely vast in its ability to separate in a few feet
though we can’t blame the table for becoming as satirical as the walls
so many little barbs and snipes are bound to fall short eventually
and our house is helpless but to pick them up
I raise my teacup to my lips and drink deeply
but under the screen of sugar, I taste the faint bitterness of almonds
I freeze, your mockingly inquiring eyes upon me
daintily, quietly, I finish my tea
then lift my head and blow you a kiss
you freeze in shock, belatedly trying to dodge a second slow
your eyes close, resigned to the inevitable
and finally, finally, you once again reach out your hand
I take it and we step, side-by-side, into the two places laid out for us
you whisper you are sorry, and the self-directed bitterness breaks me
until I am crying and you are crying and with our tears come redemption
I close my eyes peacefully, my hand linked in yours
they close the lids and shovel the earth
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
but you and I are long gone
leaving nothing but an elegant gray headstone
graceful words trace a tale of two in love
too bad graves don’t have a p.s.
ours would be “If they could’ve forgiven, they could’ve loved again”
but that’s a little too bitter for a world that likes happy endings
and besides, ours ended up one
in death we no longer part

[Robin]

This reads a lot like prose, which made it kind of heavy reading for a poem - if I were you, I'd convert it to prose and then see how it goes over, and if you like the poem version better, keep it that way, but I think it's a bit denser in reading than most poetry.

Some of the line breaks are kind of awkward, such as "...across from each other/separated by the elegant oak table." They aren't so much bad line breaks as they feel abrupt, especially compared to the heavy duty quality of the lines.

"meanwhile you hide behind your newspaper
and its bitter headlines declaim a cold world
in stark black and white boxes
as darkly black as your hair,
as pristinely white as your shirt
both neat and immaculate and unreachable
though we sit just across from each other"

I love this part. It reminds me of Stanley Uris from Stephen King's IT: he was a 'fastidious boy,' a 'patient boy.' The image just reminded me of him: a pristinely white shirt and a dark head bent over a newspaper, trying to keep order in his life.

[cry,crayola.]

yeah, that's all i thought of. you're just kinda giving us too much to take in.

otherwise, good job. mucho props.

[Ramona]

Yes, I agree with Robin and cookies4breakfast. It's kind of thick for a poem.