did you try not to flicker, an apparition
coasting with his
hand pressed over hers, morning sun
reflecting
off the Zakim bridge and she,
wondering if you
were still hovering on the outside,
peering in at strangers
night after night she bent beside you,
a lamp
quietly illuminating a corner of the
room, she
would watch your mouth, wondering if those words
were for her, or someone you had lost
years before
she handed you the key without
pretense, though
abuse is a vigilant perpetrator, and how
could she
ever take back your childhood, how
could she
ever wring out the darkness that lay within your bones
who do you miss when you look in the mirror, beautiful
man she loves still, broken fragments
of a man once loved,
the remnants of something forgiven,
or something
abandoned at the curb where you left
her that night
© 2.5.2018
heather brager
 |
| Antony Micallef . |
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