April Man
Dear April-man,
Do you know
Why
April is the cruelest month?
I do.
Because it is when you took me
In your arms
In your bed
And I let you.
I let you.
The conditions of our agreement
Were never
Written outright.
But perhaps they should have been.
I wish I could have had your intentions in writing,
A big red warning sign
Screaming out “Danger!
Heartbreak ahead.”
There was a cliff before me
With sharp rocks at the bottom.
If I’d seen it on paper
Maybe I wouldn’t have
Jumped off.
It’s my fault of course,
Most things are.
I did jump, after all.
I believed that
When you taught me how to drive a stick shift
And held my hand on long drives
And cooked spaghetti and meatballs,
My favorite food,
And laid me down on your soft gray comforter
And kissed me
And held me
That was “I love you.”
But it wasn’t.
It almost was,
But it wasn’t.
I should have been sure, should have
Waited
Until you were sure
That you loved me.
I was sure.
So sure that I let you have my heart without question
My body along with it.
I was sure I loved you.
Everything is tainted with truth now.
I did not know that April
Was the cruelest month
Until it wasn’t April
Anymore.
Sincerely,
Miss Understanding