Self Portrait of Me Now and of You Then
I am writing to you-
To her.
This is my gift to you
Despite your reluctance
(that I know you have)
To read this.
You used to be young
And thin.
You may not remember it,
But I do.
I remember it everyday.
I remember it
When I see you now,
Disillusioned from your youth.
The moths still land on the lantern
Outside of our home.
Maybe you remember
How we used to throw rocks
And try our hardest
To hit the glow.
But neither would win the game
Because night always hit sooner
And harder.
It is when the sun goes down
That they come out.
The “butterflies”
You used to say,
Delighted by their
Dull wings.
Now you don’t notice them.
I am sitting by the water
That you have asked me to bring you to
So many times.
I was always too busy
And didn't want to.
You no longer ask me.
Despite my ache.
If you asked me now to come
To the spot that I sit
As I write to you,
I would still say no.
But I would feel the regret
Sting in my mouth
From the bite to my cheek.
And I would remember
That harsh
Taste of copper
For the rest of the day
When I would feel
The swelling
And the wrinkle
Within my mouth.
