Saturday, March 14, 2009

march 5th

At some point, I think I knew that we could never return,
not after all this time.
So much ink spent putting you in words,
everything but your name,
should have been a sign that you would never let me back.
Once, I felt you like a thunderstorm
but now your presence has faded to the lightest of greys
like an almost dry sidewalk after rain.
Sometimes I worry that one day I will look for you and you will be gone,
though that has already happened.

On the first birthday I knew you we went to the movies,
and I sat next to you in the dark wondering what would become of us.
Afterwards we watched the ducks swimming in the pond
and walked home slowly in the dusk. I felt bad because
I hadn't gotten you anything, so I reached for your hand as we talked.

Mostly I'm grateful that no record of our conversations
from after I left remains. I think - no, I know -
I would be ashamed of myself to read it.
As it is I am ashamed enough to remember, and to know that you remember too.
I hear myself speaking now with the patience, the frankness,
I should have given you to begin with,
and I know that my chance to show you that is gone.
Maybe this is my backwards way of giving you what you should have had all along.

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