Sending My Regrets
/Just because you have two broken halves and all the tape in the world, it doesn't mean you can make a whole.
————
You know, I think I’m sorry now. Sincerely,
chest-heavy sorry. I carry it in the lowest tips
of my lungs like pneumonia. I know
I said I’d never apologize after you served up my heart
sliced thinly on toast, a quick late breakfast you slid to her
at the other end of the table we crawled across
(just a little further with every teasing flash of
psychotic secrets held far too private for way too long.
A folle de deux of poison and pomegranates. We debrided our wounds
And slammed them together demanding they heal.) She ate
it sliced thin on the run without savor, how you eat
a bowl of fibrous cereal consumed for your health or a bad,
but not memorable meal, served by a waitress
who calls everyone “sugar” no matter what they are like.
I’m sorry now. A true sorry folded up and stuffed inside
the deepest ventricle of that self-same heart. I understand.
It was my fault from the start.
I never should have handed it over to you,
knowing you couldn’t resist the vivisection.
I should have known my hurly burly heart
was an old and fragile thing. If you clear off the dust
sometimes that’s all there is, dust held together
by a memory of the object it used to be.
By E.V. Noechel
From: United States
Website: http://www.evnoechel.com
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