Friday, March 20, 2009


By Anonymous

I didn't want for you
to be twenty minutes late
and spill into the room apologizing
that you are awful with directions

I didn't want to listen awkwardly
while you stumbled through a story
about some pet you once had

I didn't want to feel guilty
as your lazy eyes tried to meet mine
and I wondered why you
seemed a little off

I didn't want to know
as I shook your hand
that you had no chance here
or possibly anywhere

I do want you to know that I was nervous too
awaiting this interview
hoping you would be the one
we have been waiting for

Now I want you to stop talking
to stop reminding me that life
is a partial parent
guiding and giving to some
while leaving others to grope
and squint through their days

I want to go to you now
brush back your haphazard hair
and kiss your forehead
as if you were my sister

As if your mother, too
got sick when you were ten
and you worried about her
when you went outside to play

And I want you to know that
during my drive this morning
I longed for a gentle darkness
to soften the citrus sting of morning
so that I might pull over and,
unnoticed by others
racing towards responsibility,
slip into the swaying woods
to lie down among trees
and let ancient roots wrap around me
like a child coming home

I want to tell you all of these things
as I say,"Have a nice day,"
and leave you to find your way -

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