Pass the Hat

Monday, August 16, 2010

Laur @ 8:03 PM

Apology Sestina

You can consider this my apology,
the poem I’ve considered writing every day.
Today is no different; I am hungry
for scones and forgiveness. Will you believe
me when I tell you in this dandelion
dress that I wish you the best? The truth

is that I never told you the truth.
So how could you have accepted an apology?
When I went to London you gave me a dandelion
necklace, silver and delicate. On a day
in September I woke up and could not believe
as I touched my bare neck that it was gone. Hungry

for an explanation--as I had been hungry
for Greek food the night before—I sought the truth
of its disappearance. I couldn’t help but believe
that it meant something, and I owed you an apology.
But I never told you. On the day
that I next saw you, four months later, you did not ask of the dandelion

necklace. And now as I stand here in this dandelion
dress (I wore it once for you in Chicago), you are not hungry—
not for me, not for any answers. By today
you have become aware of the truth,
and you know that you deserve an apology.
What you might not believe

is that after two years I still feel guilty. You believe
that I betrayed you first, and stopped wearing the dandelion
necklace second. Please accept this apology:
I’m sorry, but it was the other way around. Hungry
for intimacy and meaning, I found the truth
in someone else’s bed. I don’t regret the day

I awoke beside him in Dublin—but I do regret the day
I drank so many whiskey-and-cokes that I believed
that my life in London could be the status-quo; in truth
I lost that significant dandelion
necklace because I was so goddamn hungry
for it all to change. And it did. And this is my apology.

Sometimes I wish you knew the truth about what happened that day,
and you could receive an apology that made sense. I believe
I lost that dandelion necklace for a reason. So why am I so hungry?

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Laur @ 5:40 PM

Dublin

We did it on the top bunk
in a crowded room
while the other six souls slept
soundly (I hope).

But first we took a stroll along the banks
of the Liffey; I was
fascinated
by the ladders
leading halfway down into
its depths. You—puzzled—
steered me
away

towards the lights of the pubs, the
safety of
our hostel. Safe,
until you hiked up my dress (pale
blue, cotton, cheaply made) and
every-
thing changed.

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