Because I was running late and the car wouldn’t start
I thought to write a note to you which I have left you
on the corner of your eyes as you sleep for you to read as you watch
yourself in the mirror this morning before readying for work.

I wrote in the ink your last mother gave us before
she traveled to India to see how the other half lives
and never returned with the beautiful purses she spoke so much of.

The note reads indecipherably so I never expect you
to know what I said which is why I must leave you
for the blossoming apple tree in the Johnson’s backyard.

When I was young I wanted a tree house taller
than the one my parents raised me in with a stronger
bedroom door that wouldn’t shatter one night when I was seventeen
and you were sixteen and beneath me on my plaid sheets.

The next morning after the car finally started I drove
to the supermarket because you left a list for eggs
and mouthwash and cinnamon all of which I bought for you
and left at the edge of the bridge to the next town over
where your sister lives with her disabled son.

I whispered words to the boy that he heard purely
and I was refreshed unlike I’ve ever known with you
because he simply stood and recognized my need
for speech.

12/11/2006

Posted on 12/11/2006
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