Talk is cheap but it still packs a punch by Marissa Glover

Talk is cheap but it still packs a punch

If I told you the things he said
you wouldn’t believe me—sure,
you’d understand his growl
of loneliness dressed as desire,
each catch and release
of throaty breath resonating,
especially if you’ve seen
Allie leap into Noah’s arms
on a dock in the pouring rain
or heard Springsteen sing
about sheets soaking wet,
a freight train pounding
in the middle of his head.
But the specifics, every word
and syllable in perfect concert—
you wouldn’t believe me.
Not even if I told you, which
I can’t. Not because I don’t want
to. I’d write them here if
I could remember. Instead,
it’s like a bruise that rises
to the surface weeks after impact,
a submarine breaking for air
after being rammed underwater.
You can point to the place,
a cacophony of blues and purples,
an abstract painting of concrete pain,
proving something happened.
You just don’t know what.

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Marissa Glover lives and writes in Florida, where she’s busy swatting bugs and dodging storms. Her poetry collections Let Go of the Hands You Hold and Box Office Gospel are published by Mercer University Press. You can follow Marissa on social media at MarissaGlover_