Good morning friends,
This is my first poem in a series about ex-girlfriends. I love feedback, but no pressure. Feel free to send me something of yours as well! If you wanna join my poetry mailing list, shoot me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org. Have a great day.
by Elliott DeLine
This morning I showed Christen
Golden The Ponyboy,
A stuffed horse, made of maroon corduroy.
The outer skin is cut from women’s pants, the pocket seams visible on the right side of the pony’s bottom.
The white stitching of the maroon pony is rough, done with an untrained hand.
The tail and mane are made of strips of fabric, the sort you’d find in a box outside for free in Ithaca, beside the local craft store.
Brown plaid pattern and a white fabric adorned with little red flowers, green leaves, and ladybugs.
Golden the Ponyboy’s legs do not hold his weight
So he sprawls with them spread in four directions, like a starfish,
on the dark wood table
where we sit.
“Gina made him for me,” I say.
Christen laughs because I named a chicken after Gina because– well, forget it, it’s mean.
Why be mean about ex-girlfriends anyway?
At 33, I’m only just realizing this.
I once brought Golden
To art school
Because I was proud of him.
I placed him on the table
Along with a drawing of him I had made.
That teacher told me
My work was immature
And asked wouldn’t I rather
Be a writer?
And now I sit with Golden
As I type this
And I wonder
Is Gina still alive?
I mean seriously.
She has no Facebook.
Seriously, Gina, are you out there?
Are you ok?
I heard a rumor that you
Moved to Texas?
Really Gina, are you ok?
I really hope that you’re ok.