I just learned my old love’s getting married.
So now the veil is lifted. Why should I
care? A decade’s fallen since I carried
her in my arms, watching her wide blue eyes
entranced by fear of dancing. But, oh, she
loved my wit and charm, my poems, my voice
soft as rain, gentle fingers tenderly
sliding along her arm. She made the choice
to leave before I ever knew, then glared
in pained silence when I whispered, I love
you. The cab pulled away. The final fare.
Months later, I saw how psychic wars shoved
her out the door. For ten years now, I’ve prayed
she’d live her deep dreams. Still, I wish she’d stayed.
Roger Armbrust
January 16, 2009
