Thursday, September 29, 2016

Poem about the past

He said it never took place
That late night conversation
Of bourbon and bad news
When we agreed to end
What had long before died
I see us there in that lush spring evening
So young, so ill-suited
The caramel-colored corduroy chairs
As out of place in that old farmhouse
As our tenuous hippie commitment

Whiskey in my hand, a full glass
Ice, no soda by that point
We reminisced, we cried
Why now, he asked, why now
And I said what should have stayed hidden
And that led to all the rest
The park, the bruises, the broken tooth

His letter a surprise after 30 years
He’d read my book
I got it wrong, he said
My memories false, his true
We never reminisced, he said
We never cried
I never confessed
The letter says nothing
of the hitting or the choking

Curious, isn’t it, how memories live in us as real
And not in others who were there too?

Jill Kelly, 2016

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