Wednesday, May 4th

You will probably dislike this poem. I wrote it about you anyway. The line about the cardinal is the best one, which you will probably see.

If I speak

What will answer?

I am alone

My mind and me

If I hear your voice

Who is its maker?

I tell you the parts of the day that I think you should know. The cardinal, the joke, the time I lost my temper.

Your words are there, after, if that's in answer.

And I turn them over in my mind, slowly, like artifacts of belief. Quiet little damning things that will never rumble in your lungs or give shape to your lips, warmed. 

Leave them there. I hate how thin they are. Don't go, ever. I want to talk.