i
loved you hesitantly –
in the
nod at the radio static and the daily rain report,
in the
pause at the cross-walk and polite hello-goodbye between
another hello,
and wondering
what you are thinking now, and i’m probably busy
this weekend
but maybe another
time,
and trying the radio again –
and almost getting caught
in a thunder
storm,
and
in drawing maps out
of your words,
in trying
to catch the pattern in the wings of mayflies and the cracks on sidewalk edges,
remembering too
many
of your stray
details
that don’t belong with me
so i leave them on my countertop hoping i’ll have a chance to return
them
before we collect any more dust,
in the
days that make up seasons,
but only
ever one at a time
little by
little, because i knew
if i
loved you how you were meant to be loved,
i’d never
be able to let you go.
and i
remember you hesitantly
–
in the
weight of the syllables of your name – heavy; but silt-like
always sneaking through my fingers – until you return again
like a wave to a shore and these conversations echoing in my ears
over and over – between strained goodbye, and radio-static again,
in the recollection of uncomfortable hush as we listened
that summer
to the
snap of cricket choirs
and foot
steps on pavement,
and wondering what i am thinking
now
or if the rain could fill up these broken fault-lines – keep land from
separating,
draw close miles stretched out too thin, bring us back
if only to give up mapmaking, if only to misinterpret every sign of
rain,
if only to pass at cross-walks and polite hello-goodbye
between hello again.
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