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BLUE SWEATERS AND BULLETS

It was all I could give.
It was all that I had.

Why was I willing to give my very last dime,
yet stingily, greedily, desperately hoarding
every billowy filament so uniquely me?

Why did I deny you what was
rightfully, helplessly, hopelessly yours
as if by denying I could undo
the grapple hook of tenderness entrenched in my heart?

Why did I think that

if I willed it, if I denied it, if I tried so desperately to fight it,
I could control and dictate what was fated to be?

Why did I delude myself into believing
that love had only one consistency, one flavor, one texture, one breath?

Why was I afraid to pluck the stem of a flower
so breathtakingly, achingly, delicately red?
And why do I still see the stain on my hand -
from the all too fleeting caress of an errant petal
touching me so softly and deeply and truly so long ago -
longer than yesterday and yet closer than tomorrow?

Why didn't I see when it was
so obviously, barrenly, apparently clear
that I loved you in spite of my refusal,
a victim of your persistent will?

I'd wrap you in the silken tendrils of my gossamer soul if it could
change this tune, rewrite the ending, and bring myself back to you -
back to the beginning and make it an end,
an infinite circle that would play in a circle over again.
Me and you and you and me
until we're one and the same,
me in you and you in me.

I wanted to give you
the heart, the center, the very essence of me,
but instead I gave you sweaters and bullets and dishonesty.

Learn more about this author, Sonia Ordoyne.
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