We Sit At the Side of the River

We sit at the side of the river. . . He tosses a few stones, Anger and hurt in his fling They plop and plummet into the depths. . . I gaze at the stars, feeling alone, Hoping they will catch my tears as they come. . . I look back at him now, heavy in anguish Trying to be stronger than I am, Pulling the weight of whatever we are. . . I am ready to work for us, But where is he? He stares forward, almost seething, Tossing another sinking stone There is despair there, and it wounds my soul A hint of dread there too. . . I ask him, “What do you want from me. . ?” Something slithers across the water The wind sways the trees compassionately As I let the tears fall. . . I let the tears fall because I am no longer a child And this love means everything. . . But where is he...? I gaze at him with more wonderment than the stars He turns his head, looks me in the eye, Sucking in a deep breath He says, “I can’t tell you, Laura. . . Because my answer is selfish.” I rummage through the stones I pick one, and skim it across the river Out of sight “No, your answer is not selfish— It’s your silence that’s selfish. . .”