I say I will tell you the rest -
the rest - as if it had been sleeping, calmly,
settled down and tucked in,
as black bears with heavy heads, their bodies plump with wild berries,
waiting for winter's end to saunter out of that deep slumber
and descend once more upon Boreal forests.
I say I will tell you the rest as if the remainder of the story,
the falling actions, happened leisurely over a Sunday brunch,
with hands lazily sinking biscotti into cappucino between
turning the pages of the morning news.
I would like to tell you the rest of the story
as though it happened in a red canoe tethered to the dock,
bobbing up and down with the waves in the pink light of
the sun setting behind the foothills.
But the rest of the story is less like pulling the sheets
underneath your feet and up around your shoulders in a down embrace,
and more like a trout thrashing in the hands that are trying to rip the hook from it's mouth
and slice open it's belly to remove the organs and the eggs.
You fill my head with
all the pretty little things
it needed to hear.
I want and I want and I want.
Flat-tired bicycles, dandelion
seeds and hastily poured drinks
on park benches have no place here.
I wanted you.
i cannot stand the shrieking of the falcons
and the crowds snaking their way between buildings,
and weaving obstacles for the passersby.
it doesn't get to me most days, but
with the heat bubbling through my skin and the clanging
of the cowbells and this recurring thought reminding
me with every pulse of the drumbeat that
we are not meant to be,
i can't help but succumb to the pressure when
it peeks its head through the door to collect its payment.