Poetry Talk

New post from Comfort

The man who collects echoes

I live in an apartment with no walls,

just whispers nailed to scaffolding.

Every morning, I sweep the silence

off my doormat like dust.

 

I once married a moth.

We divorced over a lightbulb.

She said I was too bright.

I said she kept flying in circles.

 

My job?

I bottle other people’s regrets

and sell them as perfume.

Top notes: apology.

Base: memory.

Always unisex.

 

My name?

Call me whatever.

It’ll echo anyway.

 

I dated a girl who only spoke in spoilers.

She ruined my life in three sentences.

I still don’t know if she meant to.

 

Sometimes I walk backwards

to undo conversations.

I leave apologies under park benches

like bread for pigeons.

 

Children ask me

why I wear mirrors on my shoes.

I say,

“So I never step on someone else’s past.”

They think I’m joking.

I hope I am.

 

At night, I press my ear

to the cracks in old buildings,

listening for arguments

that haven’t happened yet

.

I write them down.

I sell them to poets.

https://poetladykatz.com/poetry-talk/the-man-who-collects-echoes