Did I mistake the water again
for forgiveness this morning? Washing
the piled-up dishes, the horseflies
in this sun-sticky mid-afternoon
buzz their uncoded syllables of want
as if they know better
about desire? Did it hurt, you
in the backyard, alone, scraped
knees, building a nest
for love? What about the promise of change
of season? Did summer arrive too early for us?
Did I not put enough sugar
in your coffee
on your way to work, late? Wouldn’t it be fair
to mention the excess, too, and our
neighbour’s complaints? Was I wrong
to ask to be touched
the right way? Slamming the door,
throwing off the keys, kicking
your legs, was it
too much? Don’t you think we should replace
the painting on the wall? How is it possible,
the ruin? Getting in your car, the gravel road,
but to where and to what end? Did it just go
away? What if there was
nothing there to begin with? Am I
culpable? Do I need to know?
What about the starlings?
Or the coralliums? Are we as good
as dead? Or better than?
charlescon