Chalk

My writing will set your teeth on edge
like chalk on a blackboard
because I set you on edge as well
It has to do with knowing the author
too well
with the history we share
that makes all words your words
even if they are mine

For if there's been failure in us
it's come for the most part
from my side
No, don't argue, don't take my part
and call a share for your own
The husband who is absent, the lover gone
the father elsewhere
All of them are me

If someone said writing was for runners
they said not half enough
This frail thing I do
can't for a moment stand the light
of over-shoulder-looking
of praise, support
or even understanding
Most not of all the understanding

And so I let you see it in witheld pieces
or a sudden gush
but never as it's done
Shrugging away the parts I know must grind
as I have ground
It comes to me easily, this unease
these shaped words that are your words and mine
left over from pain and joy