In One Scenario

by Marita O’Neill

We meet for coffee, cry,
and I tell you how
sorry I am for tulips
left behind, tulips I know
you planted for me.  How
you planned
our honeymoon
how you surprised me
with a castle with
your Italian zipolo
your optimism undaunted.
How I still wish
for us listening
for geese in the night,
how much that crazy curl
falling on
your forehead keeps me
that hole
in the shoulder
of your purple sweater
keeps me
up at night.  While we’re talking,
maybe even laughing
you tell me how
sorry you are
for all the bearing walls
knocked down
for calling
someone else
love
while I still stood
below the lintels
how sorry you are
for hiding, protecting
the one thing
that might have kept us
grilling fish in our pajamas
saving a wet dog named Buzduk,
cold and shivering in a doorway,
rain making his legs skinny,
us laughing in bed on Saturday.
Then, I ask you to
forgive me
for how I searched
for your one thing
tried to pluck out
beating, throbbing
the mystery
you hid
how I tried to hold
it to the light
shake it out
make sense of
forgive me
not accepting you
for the yellow
balloon
you were
and in that scenario
I stand in my kitchen
alone
imagining.