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Touching steps through a life, a love, a dissolution, one bite-sized poem at a time.

Synopsis

Not every relationship is worth saving—but all of them are worth remembering.

These poems are about the memory of a love that cannot be forgotten. A relationship is laid tantalizingly bare in these thoughtful poems.

UN/Reconciled is an ill-fated love story told through 29 poems. It reminds couples that relationships take work even when in a powerful love. It is essential to capture the magnetic tension experienced in the first weeks and months of the relationship and find ways to keep discovering it even as the mundane of ordinary life interferes. I hope this little story will remind people that all love stories have happy starts filled with excitement and positive tension that is hard to describe. We need to continue to work to find ways to capture that excitement, even when 50 years go by. N

Presented in sequence as the inception, duration, complication, and finally dissolution of a flawed relationship, Pasquale Trozzolo's second collection UN/Reconciled: Poems of a Love Gone Off reads like heartbreak in slow motion. Years pass in these brief tastes of poetry and memories, an anniversary picnic at the beach, a lover on the road, a therapy session that cannot heal cracks that are built into the foundation of this couple's essence, and yet even in savoring the collection it still runs by all too quickly.


Each of the almost 30 poems included in this collection is prefaced by a line or two of prose from the poet as a snippet of contextualization for the lines to come. Usually, as both a poet and a reader, I find this kind of explanation irritating, because to my mind poetry should stand on its own merit without a justification or commentary from the poet. That said, there are exceptions to every rule, and Trozzolo's brief, prose introductions are both lyrical, and seamless enough with each other, their individual poems, and the tone of the collection as a whole, that they do not distract or detract from the poems themselves.


Though this is only his second collection, Trozzolo's work reads like that of a seasoned poet, perhaps because the man is seasoned in life, if not in writing. His biography offers a brief glimpse into what sounds like a life well lived (a racecar driver and a professor? Color me intrigued!), and which, one would hope, will provide plenty of inspiration and reflection for years of poetry yet to come.


As for this collection? Pay particular attention to the titular "UN/Reconciled", the daring heartbeat of a micro-poem in "Forward" and the melancholy sip of "Happy Hour" for some of the brightest stars in this constellation.

Reviewed by

I'm an author, poet, part time book reviewer, and PhD. None of which impresses my cat, and only some of which pays my bills. I tend towards urban or dark fantasy and poetry, but will read anything. If you enjoy my reviews, don't forget to like or leave a tip!

Synopsis

Not every relationship is worth saving—but all of them are worth remembering.

These poems are about the memory of a love that cannot be forgotten. A relationship is laid tantalizingly bare in these thoughtful poems.

UN/Reconciled is an ill-fated love story told through 29 poems. It reminds couples that relationships take work even when in a powerful love. It is essential to capture the magnetic tension experienced in the first weeks and months of the relationship and find ways to keep discovering it even as the mundane of ordinary life interferes. I hope this little story will remind people that all love stories have happy starts filled with excitement and positive tension that is hard to describe. We need to continue to work to find ways to capture that excitement, even when 50 years go by. N

UN/Reconciled

UN/Reconciled

poems of a love gone off



“Tell all the truth but tell it slant.”

—Emily Dickinson


This is a work of fiction. It is not intended to portray any person or combination of persons living or dead—really.



Preface

As if something out of a sailor’s dream, you walk in, like an actress, superior yet terrified—prey, hunted—eluding. That walk—maybe you were born with it, although likely it’s an acquired trait, to complement your red hair and accent. You speak in whispers— another of your movie star tricks, and it works, makes me get close.

Looking like you have something important to say, you charge toward me. Impossible to miss in that mini dress, my eyes follow, like a construction worker. That half-empty bottle of wine you’re holding only adds to the allure. Heart pounding, I watch with an accelerating desire, thinking the sort of thoughts that might get me arrested. With no hesitation, you lean in close and whisper, “Follow me.Instantly I know I will never forget you.

What started quickly turned into—well, I don’t know how to describe it. All I know is that I’ve been writing poems about you for decades—still, not sure if I’ll ever be able to stop or forget. And the truth—I don’t want to stop—or forget.



Forward

2:15 a.m.— why must even my dreams be poems? Why not just dreams?


First Time

In no particular hurry, you clear the clutter of our life: a few dishes, a box of books, our one good painting. You turn to ask a question but stop before you speak. Maybe you’re right. All we do is disagree. Not fight. Just disagree. It wasn’t always this way.

Doors open. You enter,

capture me like a riptide I can’t escape.

Rescue is what I need.


Bronzed was the first

word that came to mind,

though breathless, I could not speak.


The second word

I can’t put down for fear of arrest.

Singed, I edge closer.


You’re right there—

I can smell you—see you glisten.

As if to invent possibilities


you speak first,

whisper, one word, “Follow.”

I take your hand


and follow. We both

know this is heading for unexplored pleasure.

Days of it. Twenty minutes later


and, already

I know—I’ll never

forget you.


Change

At your insistence, we kept things simple, impersonal, focused on fun. Things changed.

I’m just here for fun,

you answer before I even

finish the question. Nonchalantly

you blow smoke softly my way—then kiss

me hard. That was as close to the truth as you got.

You went on to love me, like a gypsy—whenever you

were in town. I waited. Watching you

come and go was almost perfect.

Until you moved in.


Rumble

You always treated our love casually. It seemed easier for you to do things without me. Maybe I was just the object of your play.

You’re going off.

Like a ship at sea

you have a melody.

A low rumble

echoing off waves

as if fog were in the air.

You pulse, taking oxygen

as you move. Barely glancing.

Hardly noticing, as if alone.

First I was insulted, but

who am I kidding?

This is meaningless

at its best.


Unsaved

You seemed serious about us for a while, and I was all in. Still, something about you made me feel that I was more in love than you.

Already—it doesn’t matter,

I’m in too deep. You are my heroin.

Immediate pleasure followed

by certain pain.

You lure with your sweetness

and kill the future so beautifully.

Yet I chase. Running the fault line

as if nothing will break.


Like Us

Time moved swiftly. Somehow we were “celebrating” two years together. I planned a picnic at the beach. Once we arrived, we found a very private spot and, for about an hour, we enjoyed each other’s company. After, we even held hands. Then, in the distance, we heard a single-engine airplane. Just like us, it seemed to struggle.

Impending—

Up and then off

we echo and stall.

It feels like we’re about to

come to an abrupt end.

These stunts of ours

scrape the sky with

terror and hope

vibrating through our

own shadows.

A distant but familiar

pulse beckons.

Will we throttle up or

is this the end?


Multitask

We stayed together—almost committed. I was never your priority.

Sounds like you’re giving

dictation as we make love

while you talk paint colors and

landscaping. At least you’re naked

though covered in your to-do list

and bra. My lover is somewhere

buried in important things too hard to forget

even for the next 12 minutes? You’re in a

hurry now, for all the wrong reasons. I want to

complain, but I love you.


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About the author

I’m a retired madman from Kansas. Still no tattoos, or MFA, I continue to complicate my life by living out as many retirement clichés as possible. My work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, and I am the author of two poetry chapbooks. I write till it hurts every day. view profile

Published on October 21, 2022

Published by Kelsay Books

3000 words

Genre:Poetry

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