What a wretched thing,
Hollow mahogany and
Mother of pearl inlay
That houses your love for me.
We're in our twenties now,
But I remember seventeen,
October rising around our ankles
Like a flood.
I never minded being your muse,
But I didn't want your love.
That heavy, languid thing,
Too big a burden for my fragile frame.
We used to sit on playground swings.
You would strum that hollow thing
And I would sing about the day and
The night and the in between.
Then it was my turn for silence.
And I wished you wouldn't sweat,
Wished you wouldn't close your eyes
And contort your countenance with passion.
Such sweet words rolled off your tongue,
I felt guilty for hating every one.
Your talent was undeniable.
If only the words weren't about me, for me.
And those steel strings,
Those chords that broke the still night air
Made people wonder how I couldn't love you.
How could I deny such feeling?
But they weren't there the night you kissed me.
I stood solid, didn't even breathe,
As you pulled my hair and pressed your lips to mine,
Such desperation that only made me fear you.
They didn't feel the anger inside you
When you pulled away from me
And I couldn't meet your eye,
Turned to lick away the salt and iron on my lips.
For a moment I thought you might hit me,
But the wall took the blow instead.
"God damnit, Megan."
Then you were gone.
Why did you have to ruin those easy nights?
Balancing on street curbs,
Sharing a fifth of gin,
Playing under orange streetlights.
I would tap the tambourine.
We'd nod our heads and let the melody
replace the marrow
in our bones.
That's all I wanted.
Just the music,
Just some easy company.
Never asked for that sickly love.
The day I made you hate me,
That old thing turned up outside my door.
I put it in the corner
Where it gathers dust each day I don't hear from you.
No one else hears the music like you did.
But you had to go and love me.
Now you're gone and all of seventeen sits silent in the corner.
What a wretched thing.