Lest I See That She These Nativitic Remembrances Hath Sent To Me
Ere ever I send to her;
She whom I love;
Any of the apologies and explanations of most bittersweet love:
An accounting of those regrets and remorses that I have,
My fooleries and follies and fallacies, fair as well as fell and foul,
That I discharged;
Ere I ever send to her, in epistolary form,
Or else that poetic and psalmic,
Those words of love yet regret that I wish and long most
To discharge unto her, so that her brassed-over heart,
Now encased with bitterest, steeliest, most impenetrable and sharpest
Shapen steel touching me, concerning me, regarding me;
She black of heart with reference to me;
So that her cold unforgiveness might at long last come to an end;
So that this everlasting winter of her hatred, fear, anger, and unforgiveness
Might cease and because spring and summer anew,
For all these reasons and more, I,
On this, the thirty-fifth anniversary of my hardly sainted nativity,
I await her, and her apologetic, explanatory, reconciling and/or
Forgiving remarks,
Her little lovely epistolary lucubrations or inditings of a
Reconciled love,
Because I have a weak and almost extinguished hope that
Perhaps her gift in remembrance of my nativity
(Of which she has more than her sufficiency of knowledge)
Will be the delivery unto me of those remarks abovementioned.
So, though I may pine and long and yearn to send my love
A gift of my own on this day,
So that we might finally see the twilight of this long estrangement of ours,
I will not, not until and unless I see that she hath sent me nothing
And said to me, even less.
Copyright © Douglas Cate | Year Posted 2017
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