A Memory of Conversations
remembering at 9:08 p.m. on 2005-01-16
He used to go over my words with a fine tooth comb. Looking to pick over the sentences, and grammar, waiting for something to strike a chord in him that I had failed to convey.
Accusatory run on sentences, poor punctuation. Last minute ends to a statement, I had edited out, but at last...decided was far too made of myself to leave out.
Even if it sat at the end of the statement, like a soiled rag.
Searching his eyes, I twisted my thumbs deeper into the holes I had torn into my sweater sleeves.
The pacing of my thoughts, carved away the threads.
(Throw it away my mother said.)
I always searched for the one chord that I might be able to strike in him. The vibration that would send his movements into an inner realization. This is me. She knows me. Remarkable. When,in fact- it never came.
Oh, how you enjoyed the calculations. The dissection of my laments. How you still do!
When all the while, I lay open and bleeding...willing to hold myself open for another hour...another day.
Remarkable.
Internal love is dark. Love of the murmuring voice is my empty cellar.
And all the while, I turned my ear to hear your voice.
And it was nothing more than an echo.
never was � never will be
