Holidays
Poetry
It’s Christmas Eve on the bathroom floor,
the air outside is bitter; you don’t call.
Maybe I’d understand if it was a regular Thursday,
maybe I’d understand if your day was long but it’s the holidays
and I want to spend time with you.
You’re about three states away
and I’m three drinks from spilling every story you’ve ever told me
to the strangers in my living room.
And you keep me like a secret
in little hideaway corners with wedges of affection
spoon-fed to me like a mouse.
I’d give you a piece of my mind, I’d break the paper we signed
when we both got into this thing, but it’s Christmas Eve and I am tired;
I’m older and we aren’t married.
All of my friends still ask why I’m single —
I tell them, you know I tell them
that I don’t need a ring to belong to you.
It’s New Year’s Day and I’m a hopeless romantic;
nothing’s changed but the weather.
We still sit together but on separate couches.
The conches sing and the ball drops, then everyone cheers.
Nothing’s changed, I’ve just gotten older.
