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Evan Stephens
Poems
Aug 2019
Letter of Apology
Dear E--,
Sewing gold,
we walked
in the vacant
invisibilities.
In a hush-throated hall
we saw a Last Supper
of acrylic blocks,
breaks of the past.
Wooden masks
deviled the olive wall,
& we found tiles that
turned out our hands.
None of this sustained
you when the sun dropped
beams like pick-up-sticks,
aces of heat.
It didn't sustain you
when my friends
split like copper stills
across the breaded table.
The grand oil lamp
& the sea chant
became ash daubs
of noose memory
when I returned
to your dark room.
I'm sorry for every
thing I couldn't repair.
Every whorl
& loop in my hands
held you tight
as boas.
By the time I felt
your breath settle
into the delta of sleep
things had half-healed.
Still, I trembled
with sharp dreams.
In the morning,
I was yours again -
as I always was.
This is my apology.
Yours,
Evan
Written by
Evan Stephens
44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)
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