Reconciliation

Your gate was rickety, rusty,
Difficult to open.
It always was.
Pushing,
I scraped through –
Just.
Followed the winding path,
Flanked by banks
Of bittersweet memories.
Brown-edged blooms,
Faded and falling,
To stand at the foot of your stairs.

Your steps were freshly painted –
Like blood
But the cracks still showed through.
I came empty-handed
But for a bunch
Of last year’s betrayal
Already wilted in the sear of the irrevocable,
Unrevived by your tears or mine.

Up above me you waited on the verandah,
A suburban Venus of Willendorf.
Against your rightful ownership of flesh
My reconstructed femininity was a stick
Sharp at the edges,
And prone to splinter.
Your greeting was guarded,
Like a spear.
I tasted vinegar.

I followed you into the hallway,
Dark, dim, cool.
It was hung with wanted posters
But I was found wanting,
Not wanted.
I peered into its dark recesses
Looking for scraps of old sins:
Illegitimate permissions and
Deceitful omissions.
But I found only the dust
Where you hadn’t vacuumed.

In your kitchen
I begged for strong hot coffee
And cool, sweet water
But in your cupboard
You could find only the jar of
Half-empty ambivalence.


So we sat and sipped
Tea tepid with caution.
Exchanged pleasantries for the unpleasant.
In my handbag I carried a script
For reconciliation and forgiveness.
Its lines went unread,
Nothing was said.
Bright morning faded,
Slipping through my fingers
Into dull afternoon.

Turning to go,
I found your arms outstretched,
Hands empty and bloodied.
Your heart wooden,
Mine broken.

Gathering up skirts of sorrow
I stumbled to the other side of the street,
Never looking back,
Ever!