I want you to know
My life goes on without you
My world still turns
My sun still rises
I don’t need you.

But,
I want you.
If you come back
From wherever you went,
Come back to me.

Your eyes lit the starfires
Your hands smoothed the clouds
You drew my sky bright with chalk,
And now it’s filled with rain.

I brought an umbrella
So I’m alright.
But I’d be so much better,
Happier, healthier
If you were here,

With me.

I burned your sandwich today.
Just like your mom used to.
Except she was just bad at making sandwiches.
I wanted to ruin your day.

The phone bill, rigidly $99.95 a month
Has overage fees on it.
You’re making a lot of private calls
For your public service job.

I think someone’s been siphoning gas
While we sleep
Because I certainly didn’t use that much,
Honey.

I’m onto you.
But I’m not bitter
Not at all.
Sorry about the sandwich.
Have a nice day
with her.

We sat down at the old coffee place
(I really hate espresso)
It was probably Monday
(Definitely cliché)
I leaned back in my chair,
you leaned forward
(Never were good with body language)
The frosting window was more inviting
than your hands as they reached
for mine.
(I was jealous of the laughing couple outside)
I wished you weren’t perfect.
(I wanted to catch you cheating, or something)
It would have made everything much easier.
At least, more sensible.
I didn’t know how hard it would actually be.
(That’s what I said to appease your feelings)
The words (actually) just fell out,
Like stones forced over a waterfall’s edge.
The truth is,
I (Never) Loved You.

I said,
I’m sorry
Maybe we can be friends
The kind that exchange pleasantries
And pastries.
Then I picked up my things
And left.

He taught me how to save the birds
that flew into the window
just trying to get inside.

I would hold the box while
he gently scooped up the little ball
of ruffled feathers.

He taught me how to be compassionate
to those who need me unexpectedly
but I never understood,

Why did the birds want inside in the first place?

it’s so obvious
you are weary of
your concrete lips
and your padlocked heart.

you wear your latest mistake
hidden under a thin winter coat
buttoned to the top.
you’re covering up who
you are in paper scarves
that will melt in the rain.
you’re so afraid.
but of what?
of judgment?
no one will see your beauty
if you cloak it in your fear.

He lodged for six days.
It was nice to have the company, for a change.
But we both knew
he wasn't here for vacation.
After all, Minnesota in fall is not leisure material.

The kid stank, hard.
Like old bacon. Or rotting sausage.
Maybe he had a pork chop fetish - though,
he didn't eat much last night.

21, in the late sixties.
Old enough to drink
or die.
I knew why he was here.
I could see it in his eyes. They were soft. Afraid,
afraid of what lay before him.
I could see the uniforms, the guns, the folded flags.
I could see the War.
But him,

all he could see was the border.

I took him out, first of October
out on the Rainy River.
His extra weight sunk my Evinrude
a little deeper into the water than normal.
Poor engine had to chug hard.

We approached the buoys marking the edge.
I cut the engine 20 yards from Canada.
I wanted him to jump.
But I wouldn't say anything.
81 years hadn’t robbed me of wits.
His moral paralysis added drops to the rushing river as
he gripped the edge,
knuckles white, muscles tense, rising
leaning over
poised
ready -

I thought, for sure, he’d go.

But he sat back down. Defeated,
defeated by the chains that bound him.

I said not a word, humming “Yankee Doodle” softly as
his tears broke, openly this time.
Minutes passed, maybe hours.
Stars heralded the coming of night.

Holding a torch for light,
I started the resilient engine,
pulled up my fishing rod,
and turned back to the States.

The tools were all there
for a long and lasting home.
Cherry red bricks gleaned in the sunlight,
yellow mortar waited expectantly.
Roses budded, forming gentle, protective walls.
The tools were all there
anticipating,
yearning.
Finally, we picked them up
and began to build.

We didn’t get very far,
We thought it was enough, those few layers, to protect
Us.
No. You didn’t get very far.
You set your tools down, left them in the
white-tipped grass.
I stood there alone with mine.
But they grew too heavy for
One.
I knew it wasn’t complete.
You saw a home, but
I saw a house.

The night wind blew cold
You kept the blankets.
The sunlight grew dark
You hid the lamp.

The roses died, black and stiff,
the grass choked with weeds.
You never saw the bricks fall, so -
on my way out -
I locked the door we never had.