I can't stop flashing back to your flannel sheets
and how drafty your old house was,
those nights I didn't come home.

I wonder if she ever found out--
her photo still on the shelf
next to my pillow
that first time.
I wonder if the cats told her
when she came by
to take them back to her parents'.
I wonder if you told her
three months later
when you finally got lonely again.
And did you tell Larry
and did you tell Sammy
and was it really as awkward as I thought
when I ran into them at the gas station.
Larry has a baby now.

And I wonder if I hurt you--
or if I didn't mean enough
to make a difference
(or wasn't good enough
to reject you)--
when I rolled away and turned my back to you.
I didn't even follow you
to the bathroom
to see if you were all right.
Just put some clothes on
and rolled away,
felt you crawl back into bed,
but said everything was fine
and I was too sleepy to finish.
(And claimed to be too sober
the next morning.)
It was too bright, was the problem.
I'd've seen the traces of her
all around the place.

It's been almost two years
since I last spoke to you.
Longer still since I've seen you.
And I wonder if you still
flash back to those nights.
I worry that you do
and hope you don't,
however much I'd hate to be
forgotten.

06/09/2009

Posted on 06/10/2009
Copyright © 2024 Devon E Mattys