Deborah Bolle: October 2007 Archives
Trust.
It doesn't really rhyme
but it somehow reminds me
of kindling.
A handful of fragility that goes up in smoke
at the slightest provocation.
Trust can be given to another
who will cherish it,
breathe of its essence,
caress it lovingly,
pledge to it eternity,
and end it with a flick.
copyright 2007 Deborah Bolle
But we hadn't walked far
when she dropped my hand
and stopped walking.
i stopped too and looked at her.
She said, "You should be mad at me."
I said, "What? Why?"
She said, "Because you are not
going to get what you want from me."
I asked,"And what do I want from you?"
"Like everyone else
you want to sleep with me."
It was true.
I told her i was looking forward
to it soon after
I re-found her.
We'd had the most amazing times
before I became an idiot,
or at least did an idiotic thing,
and left her.
Then she turned
and started walking.
She was not an idiot.
;© 2007 Deborah Bolle
We are both very frightened.
We have both decided it will not work.
We have both decided we don't know
what "work" means
but we are afraid of it.
Cyclically one of us
approaches the other
but the other backs away
as if we are enclosed
in nonintersecting bubbles
that bounce apart
and stay apart
until they by chance
meet again
or pop.
;© Deborah Bolle
