a poem by Sandy Benitez

Surrendering the Muse

I've lost my muse.
When you find her, can you return her
to me ASAP, please.

The last time I saw her,
she was wearing a peasant shirt,
wrinkled skirt, and woven sandals.
Her hair braided on both sides
like the farmer's daughter
who only milked the cows on Mondays
and Wednesdays.

I brought her with me to the local
bookstore, sharing my list of favorite
poets in-between sips of Starbucks.
She didn't care for Neruda or mocha
raspberry. My heart asked her to
reconsider.

And as I stuffed my purse with clenched
souls and pieces of the sun, she
disappeared, somewhere near Bukowski
and Collins. An unfamiliar aisle.

The only thing left behind, a sheet of
paper with the letters FU.

© by Sandy Benitez

 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #10 ~ July 2010