My heart —
it closed
back on skis again
ever sad and ever lonely
I held my father's hand each time that he cried
As a child, sick
Lying on my side on the brown couch in the basement
He brought me peach fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt, gently stirred
He brought me orange juice diluted with water
He'd bring me whole wheat toast, pat of butter in the center
I see how deeply I have been loved even as I've felt so unloved
I see how unloved I was even as I've been told I'm so loved
I don't know if I can bring myself to care any more. I'm so tired of feeling hurt.
I'm sorry for equivocating. The cigarette poem was about exactly what you thought.
For a while I fancied myself far braver than I actually was.
I'm a more honest person now. I've suffered for it.
I look skyward into big, wet flakes
The fencerail sparkles
Small crystals cling to the tiny blond hairs on my cheeks
He looks like you and I can't get it out of my head —
How much I wanted you
