bundled cozy by the holiday lights w/ soft sweet chai
to heat my snowy heart — me & my dog
running thru the falling flakes
can’t outrun my problems tho —
my heartache remained after we thawed
out in the Honda backseat, dog tired
her lil head bobbing into sleep
i always thought the doves were morning
and then there was U
now i know why they cry
I still walk by your little pink house
especially after dusk when
your landlord won’t see me
and get to wondering
why that girl is hanging around again
Also I still daydream about our kiss
in your living room
with the heater roaring blissfully
ice melting into your whiskey
you stroking my hair
Now I nurse my anger
as if training a fighting dog
to keep you back if you come around
or if I try to come around
he will maul me too
If I saw him sauntering down the street by the university
I wonder which impulse would overwhelm me first:
to wrap him in my arms as if covering a sick child
in a sentimental blanket, and press his slender
warm torso to mine and pull my palms along
the knobs of his spine?
As if to engulf or consume him
or to grab his lovely, sun-kissed neck
with one open hand and smother him slowly
against a wall, connecting my fist with his
perfect cheekbone, savoring each wince.
Rage and desire wrap so tightly in my twisting heart
and they are both about his body.
So I don’t visit that town anymore.
I won’t let myself see what could happen
The Earth has created a long circle
around the Sun since we last touched
and yet I still can’t meet your eyes
when they hold so little guilt.
I didn’t mean to hurt you
If you say that, are you absolved
of all blame? Your summer came early
and left me cold in June. I shivered
from these burns that still ache in the sun.
Warmth will return
as I tip slowly on my axis to face
a new direction, and it will not be you
that thaws this ice.
I do need to keep some bitterness wrapped in my heart,
lest I spend too long staring at your jawline and cheekbones
and begin to forgive you.
There will always be a hard pebble of resentment lodged in my stomach
so I do not begin to fall in love with you.
You protected yourself by pretending to want me
when you still loved someone else.
I will protect myself by swallowing a few seeds of hatred
that will grow into a creeping tangled vine.
200 years ago I would have been biding my time
in a heavy wool dress gathered around my legs
hem growing dirty from the fire’s dust and ash
feet raw on an icy stone floor
Watching for the arrival of a stagecoach
or maybe a wiry boy on horseback
exhausted as he thrusts a tattered envelope
before my eager and nervous face
Maybe I would brew a cup of tea for the occasion
and sink into the old patterned armchair
or I would flee to a lonely field thick with snow
to slide that precious paper into my hands
But likely I would already be long-married
pressing a damp child to one shoulder
stacking wood on the fire as ice decorated the window
rushing to check on the rising bread for my husband
200 years ago I would have been more patient
less desperate to hear from you within the day
instead of indulging the itch to check
my texts, my emails, over and over