These words are little tiny
balled-up fists that I’m tossing at you
from across the room
trying to figure out
when you are going to get around
to choosing me and us
Which is, I know, Unfair, with a capital U
but darling, I promised a lot of things,
but I never promised fair. Not all the time.
And this is one of those moments
where you look right through me
like a ghost in the moonlight
and it takes away my voice.
So when you leave,
I wait till your head goes by the window
so I know you are really gone,
I lock the extra top bolt on the door
the one we paid the super for
but never use.
Cause I know that you won’t be able to
get it open. We never could, two hundred dollars later.
Eventually in the silence of the apartment,
the silence that I worked all night to get,
I put down my book and my glass,
the ice clinking gently and a bit
like a zombie
I walk back to the door
and with a struggle, undo the bolt.
And that was the forgiveness you got from me
without asking, the forgiveness
that you didn’t even know about
before you came in,
pulled off your hat,
steadied yourself in the doorway
and started to speak.
11 hours ago