Poetry Friday: The Word is Deja Vu

Deja vu. I guess that's two words, technically. It's Poetry Friday, peepholes, and I've put up a big challenge. Deja vu is one of those elusive things...when you have it, you're not sure why, and your brain does this little twisty contortionist thing, trying to pull out of the ether where or where have I been in space and time where this was before, why can I feel this in my bones like Groundhog Day in real life?

Feel free to explore the feeling of Deja Vu in your blog post today, in whatever form whaps you upside the head with eerie joy...story, poem, photo, recipe for grandma's sugar cookies, movie melodrama....

I'm just gonna string some words together, see what happens.


Deja View

I could tell by their sigh.

Like a tape in my head, like a life on a reel, relived over and over again.

It always happened at night. It always happened after a dinner where they were especially quiet. It always happened where there was a spectacular view, like they thought it would cushion the blow somehow, to have something beautiful close by so I wouldn't freak out.

Mike took me to a restaurant on the water. White tablecloths, white plates, red wine winking in long-stemmed glasses. "It's not you, it's me," he said. But I knew it was me. I stared at my plate, and the feeling came like a soft cotton cape being draped over my shoulders.

I've been here before.

Kevin took me on a boat. As the sun set, he said, "We've grown apart." But I knew it was him. I stared at the white plate, my face tingling with icy hotness.

I've been here before.

David made me cheesecake and served it on the balcony overlooking the city. "I've found someone else...you can't be my girlfriend anymore," he said. But I knew it was her. I looked down at the white plate, remembering a run through a tunnel. An escape.

I've been here before.

I will forever.
Never.
Eat on white plates.
Again.