Friday, June 14, 2013

The Apology

I always knew
this day would come
when she would
open that closet door
so tightly bolted
covered in two decades
worth of cobwebs.

No warning, no preparation.
She wasted no time
rambling off the why’s
the “I tried” “did the best I could.”

And one by one
the skeleton bones
tumble out, onto the floor.

You should see me
scrambling to pick
up those old bones
desperately trying

Get back in the closet,
so neatly arranged.

But there’s just too many.
And they’re too damn heavy.

Just stop.

“He hurt me.
You didn’t protect me.
You never loved me.”

I searched her eyes.
And waited.

“I’m sorry. I’ve always loved you.”

Sweat drips off my brow
trickles down the cleavage of my chest.
Mouth so dry,
not Sahara desert dry
cotton ball dry.

My heart’s still beating,
but I can’t move.

The tears fall…