Valentine
I didn’t have anything else
so I used a Post-It note,
little and thin and yellow,
with the sticky strip folded down,
and black ink from a cheap pen.
I made my handwriting longer and thinner,
formed the s’s and r’s differently
(not that he’d recognize my hand anyway),
and I put my two secret lines down
in bare ink, on real paper –
solid, staring out, anyone could read them
but I folded the paper twice,
sealed it with a little piece of tape,
and wrote his name on it
after looking over my shoulder.
Then I put it in my pocket, gingerly,
went experimentally to the box,
and no one was there.
I needed to make things right with myself
so I dropped my secret inside,
a little piece of me all alone,
and I thought of his hands unfolding it.
The slot in the top of the box was wide
so I could see what was already in –
a pile of thick, glossy paper with pink and red printed hearts,
the kind you punch out of sheets,
and I thought, mine isn’t a valentine anyways,
not exactly.
It was unassuming, inevitable, irrevocable now
a tiny dull yellow square on top
with his name facing up. I felt exposed
and I left wondering what I’d done.
Somewhere, this girl is hiding
behind little paper folds
and she didn’t put her name down.
She’s a coward.
I hope it makes him happy
and I hope he never knows.
