Distance

Last night I dreamed I sat beside you
            and as you laughed,
    I gasped, sobbed, crumpled,
and your thin brown arms caught me,
and pressed my face against
    the moist warmth of your neck
as you said to me
    all the same reassurances
we promised each other when
    we were ten years old.

And when I awoke,
    you were dancing in the Sunshine
        with all the Others--
and I watched for a moment
    before I hurried by,
        with my head bent,
afraid now
    to meet your eyes,
            Knowing
You don't want to see this,
                        my weakness.
You don't want to hold me.

And I'm weary now
    of being patient and selfless and forgiving.
I'm weary of defending you
    and I'm weary of this loyalty
that makes me send you flowers
    and cards
Still
    on your Birthday,
        even when I know
you won't call me.

You will sit alone on your bed after work
    and you may see the daisies
                dying
    on your dresser.
You may see the letters
    you didn't answer,
        the cassettes you've stopped listening to,
            the photographs and
                    the music boxes that play, "You are the Wind
                                                              Beneath my Wings."
And you will feel the bite
    inside you,
but you dare not touch a thing,
    dare not awaken
memories
    of how you laid with me
in my bed, and cried,
    because you were afraid of dying,
or laughed until you couldn't breathe
    when your Aladdin doll had
his pants on crooked,
    or sat on the couch
        of our tan camper
    and colored with K-Mart crayons
    while I told you
    that my dream man would have black hair
        and blue eyes.

You will not remember
    how you called me every night
because we had both been entangled
    with feelings for men--
You will not remember
    holding my hand and singing
        in the balcony of the Target Center;
You will not remember
    walking through the park,
and swinging our arms
    and laughing
    as we sang "Side by Side".

You will not remember
    that you were the one
        who held me
when my mother lost her job
or that once I loved you
    more than life,
       and didn't dare to spread my wings
                        if it meant flying away from you.
    And I would have died for you,
                    if you had asked.

Perhaps I still would,
 if you remember
    the promises we made
when our breasts were small,
    and our hair was long,
and our world was
    Sleepovers and Disney movies and
    Barbie dolls and dreams and Princesses
            and each other.
                    --August 20th, 2001