A girl who wore red ribbons in her hair
took one off to tie around
the wrist of her dear friend
asking her to promise to never take it off.
It stayed there through summer, fall, and winter.
In spring, the bare-limbed trees
began to sprout green buds.
While the ribbon had withered,
turning brown and tattered,
the girl had grown three inches
and cut her hair short;
She no longer wore pigtails.
you who brought her to the doctor
and signed for her packages
so that her parents wouldn’t berate her
for expensive spending habits
once told me, she asked if you were in love with her
and you said no
but from then on,
it was push and pull
an isolation from other friends
this twenty-something
she had seen the color of your heart
found the pen to scribble over it
like a child vandalizing her belongings
THIS IS MINE
and still you persisted
even as you told me
where we would eat
what we would watch
what we would do
until one day I said no
and you fell silent
love or friendship
we are human beings
and not things to be used or tossed
or pulverized to fill
the gaps of other people’s wounds
I, who have known you,
now only meet a stranger
who pulls layers over the child
trying her feet in shoes overlarge.
A bitter essence has been mixed in,
stirred and absorbed into her flesh.
Her eyes and touch hold
a sliver of ice, a dagger
poorly concealed — for me.
a smiling photograph
recalls tender days
and a green friendship
that like the snowdrop
was most beloved
after a hard frost
when the lonely
comfort the lonely
then both feel less so
If you tell me you are lonely
while I am by your side
then you have only made me
lonely
Don’t reel in substitutes for the one you seek
don’t take for granted those who care
if your heart hurts
friend, I may not have changed
but you have not changed
for the better
“Are we still on tonight?”
Is really a way of wishing
the other party would say no
so you won’t have to break
promises
But it hurts deeper when you let
the other party dangle until
the last moment
and cut them off
Know they’ll never extend
another invitation to someone
who can’t speak the truth
and wastes the time and emotion
of a person who let you in
I am tired of your complaints
your envy and emptiness
when I am here before you
thinking I was once grateful
to be meeting you again
Broken bridges
can be mended
as long as we exist
but only if both ends
stubbornly persist.
RED GLADIOLA 