POEM
Emotional Reckoning
Confronting the Past
I splashed water onto my face
and exhaled softly through
my whistle formed lips
as drops rolled
off my cheeks.
I’d forked cash out
to remodel this place.
Damn my tears to hell.
Water from the pipes
swirled down the drain.
I gripped either side
of the bathroom sink.
I built the strength
to observe that
which I couldn’t see.
The better side of me
went the way of Sarah
back to Carolina.
I hadn’t looked
at myself in months.
Here I was, studying
the lines under my eyes.
I denied my lies to the
person staring back at me.
A figure emerged behind me
with a warmth that I couldn’t
reject.
I shifted my eyes to the corner
of the streakless mirror.
There, Sarah stood, playing with her hands.
“I came back,” she said.
I cleared my throat and turned around. “Why?” I lifted and lowered my arms. “Why now?”
“I’ve never seen you cry,” Sarah said. “I mean, we’ve been together, what two years and I’ve never seen you freaking cry,” she said as though she needed to get it off her chest.
“I don’t cry,” I said. “What can I say?”
Sarah guided me to the living room. “Sit.” She pointed to the brown leather loveseat we’d had sex on too many times to count. A breeze separated the kitchen blinds.
The dim living room light gave a romantic vibe.
Something felt wrong and right at the same time.
The TV played, but Sarah grabbed a remote, pressed a button, and the sound turned off. Sarah paced and raked her fingers through her long, dark hair.
“What is it?” I said.
Sarah paused. “I need you to be present with me.”
“Excuse me?” I gave her a lopsided grin.
“Ugh.” Sarah shook her fists. “I’m being serious!” She leaned in like a mother scolding her child. “When have you ever cried over me?” Sarah said. “Over us?” She motioned between us.
“I’m…”
“Supposed to be strong,” Sarah said, folding her arms and uncrossing them. “But it’s me.”
“I’m confused,” I said, staring out the large bay window. The skeletal hickory trees left swathes of crisp gold and red leaves across the lawn.
The closest neighbor lived three miles away, so he hadn’t racked them yet. “I’d told you about my mother, what she did and didn’t do,” I said, “and you gave it little thought.”
“That’s not…” Sarah trailed off in deep thought.
“Or when I told you I wanted this more than you did, and you said your life couldn’t compete with mine.” I turned my head.
She lowered her gaze, her tears spread her mascara.
“You said that I should wait for you,” I said. “You’re so blind that you couldn’t even see your present was me.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, spilling into my arms.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “Be present.”
(© 2024 AC)
(Amazon Kindle, Spillwords, The Writers Club)
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