valentine’s day

if love is such an imperfect thing, doesn’t it

have holes, doesn’t it leak?, I wonder after

being rejected by you & left alone

to my thoughts. memory is an eternal car ride,

memory looks through windows

without seeing trees, memory continues on. my

mother’s words refract off the surfaces

of my thoughts, bounce back to her, she

swallows them. I cannot listen. if these apertures

exist, where does the love go

as it leaves me?

where can I go, now. radio is a funny thing

in that it speaks through my indifference, feels like

the beatles are singing to only me. I press replay, imagine again

looking into your eyes, saying it a million different ways;

maybe it would have gone differently if I had sounded sincere.

maybe I could have said, (if time means anything), nearly two years

it’s been. twenty-three months it’s been, that’s seven hundred days

of building up these walls, so why couldn’t I just

tell you?

my mother is silent, the radio is silent, the cars rush forward

in the same direction, we all have places to be. after you said no

I could see only the hem of your shirt, & then your shoes, & then

a spot on the linoleum floor. and I could see bits of my love,

like particles of dust, leaving my body and spiraling downward. rejection

was too predictable; I had built storm shelters hoping the hurricane

would not come. & when it came, I stood there in disbelief, unable to

shield myself from that deluge. remember, I prepared myself for this, so why

does it hurt?

getting out of the car is the hardest part, but when I do,

my body feels lighter, as if all that had been trapped inside

has been freed. it flies into the sunset like so many doves,

for a moment it leaves, for a moment the colors dull

and the walls crumble. but as I walk back inside, my love

surrounds me again, promises to stay, holds me more firmly

than your arms ever could.