Three Unearthed

August Evening

I disclosed a l l of it to you

As if it wasn’t eight years ago

The tears

The blame

The secrets I was forced to keep

The uneaten food wrapped up in her spit napkins

Eight years ago

I believed I deserved the guilt

You were calm. You were careful. Studying my words, my hastily made breaths.

Tears dripped voice cracked

Calm steady listener you understood

Everything s p i l l e d out onto the couch where we have grown

And I believe for the first time the guilt was gone

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Somewhere In Between Tape 7 and 8

Her words stabbed me as if seeking revenge after years of imprisonment

The retching crawled through the bathroom walls and forced itself through my ears seeping in

Childhood wrote me its farewell letter wishing me luck as it caught a one way train to better memories

I got lost in the tapes of home videos looking for where her silly smile abandoned us

My beautiful friend, this wasn’t who you were

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An Uncomfortable Disquisition

I remember the way you stared at me when I abandoned you for eluding friends. I trekked miles with you in silence, ina despairing hope that it would make up for what I’ve done: Left school early. Ate you shares. Told bad jokes.

Those diagnosed are not the only affected. I would haul your pain and put it

in the depth of my stomach, mold it over, built up a castle, build an empire.

I’d take the hurt again if an encore meant it’d smooth out your beautiful skin, patch up your hair,

bring the corners of your mouth in line with your nose.

Again. Redo. Take it back. Delete.

But it’s closed–the case, the discussions, the sessions. Only with snapped fingers and snipped tongues can we pry open to details once again. I would never foresee all I would need is a smile “you are doing great.”