I had a legal marriage once. He was noble, sweet, compassionate, and fiercely intelligent. He loved me and I loved him. It was as simple as that (as he often said). When people asked me why I was marrying him (we were both very young, and I was somewhat of a burning car while he was a calm prairie wind), I confidently responded,”he has never once hesitated to do anything he even thought would make me smile.” As though that was the secret to our Hollywood romance, the key that would carry us into our deathbed still holding hands and goofy smiles. He loved my smile and I loved smiling… until I didn’t anymore. Though I have moved on to a different love, transcendental, spiritual, and inexplicable by spoken language, I can’t help but sometimes cross that place in my heart with a tenderness and hope for forgiveness and peace.
A box of files.
I carried them with me
From apartment to apartment.
I even held them in storage,
Taking up space when I knew
You weren’t coming back for them.
I realized today their importance
Had probably expired
Long before we had.
They’re at my back door
Waiting to be hauled to the trash.
I thought for a moment to go through
And check, just one last time,
Make sure there wasn’t a hidden gem in there,
Something you’d have missed,
And realized there was no point.
It is a hefty box.
I might ask him to help me get it out.
But somehow, it seems my job alone.
Asking him might be offensive,
To one of us, I’m sure –
Whether him, you, or me.
When the weather is less cold,
I will take it out.