battle-axes get their way.
they stand aggressive and atagonistic
over the lovers they eat for appetizers,
drink with their wine
in crystal glasses.

i was always difficult;
you'd remind me so,
and i would never show you
how i'd deflate when you'd
leave the room.

so silently you always
had the upperhand,
with inquisitively pursed lips
and the helpless gesticulation
of throwing your hands up in the air
and sitting with your back to me
on that chair you'd always fall asleep in.

so many nights,
when you thought i stormed out angry,
i would sit on the stoop smoking marb lights,
trying to perfect rings.

and when i knew that enough time had passed,
i'd go stand in your doorway
and look at you sleep,
with your dreaming foot absently shifting itself.

you never knew because you never caught me.
only once you woke and i thought i'd been had,
but instead you just stared at me, as though
you didn't believe i was there, and there was a silent
two minutes which felt eternal and sudden,
where we merely locked focus to gaze at the tenderness
behind tired eye-lids, who'd tried too hard
for a cause that kept telling itself it was long-lost.

and then you closed your eyes again,
i walked out of the room
and we never spoke of it.

it was a silent agreement
that we were both vulnerable,
hurt by the other's defeated gaze.

we went our separate ways soon after.
you moved out and drove cross-country
and i stayed here to mend the wounds
you unknowingly opened.
you didn't think i had it in me
to mourn your absence...

but that chair looks far too empty
without you in it, and the kitchen
is entirely too clean,
and i wish you'd just get back here
and mess things up for me again.

but like you said,
"chin-up, battle-ax."

i'll just go sharpen my blades.

07/21/2006

Posted on 07/22/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer