Apologies

I won’t bring you bouquets of gardenias

After i’ve made you feel small
I won’t leave pink peonies in your mailbox

When i speak in hurtful absolutes
I won’t clip the hydrangeas from the yard

In remorse for scaring you
I won’t pick sunflowers on the side of the interstate

To ask you to stay

I never want the innocence of new blossoms

To veil my attempts to cut you down

The blooms that bring you joy

To wilt with the painful memory

The sweetness of a flower

To sour with association

I will never bring you flowers

Arranged as an apology

I will walk through fields in repentance

Sowing seeds for new growth

You deserve gardens.

someday someone will

On the count of three

i didn’t want to forget that we seemed so happy

I remembered the July heat and singing strawberry wine 

the backgammon board set up all funny.

I told you i was a crippled pony

and you told me you led horses into the woods to calm them

but you must have forgotten that.

I started counting backwards days ago

3-2-1, I know

you forgot the songs we sang,

the jokes i told were getting old.

All the self deprecation you said you hated

you nodded along and thanked me

for admitting my wrongdoings.

The question that was never asked,

“Do we each deserve a sad prince

with our own dirty records?”

Will we bandage you but leave our war wounds bleeding?

You were the first person to cry with me

and say no, never,

you deserve something else (but not better).

I took down the note you wrote,

“I have your back.”

I believe you didn’t know it,

but you didn’t mean that.

Telepathy

When you are very sick