Darling, there were once other ways to go about this—
a letter scribbled with a final goodbye—the e a hand closing—
stored away in some drawer or box, something I could
open thirty years from now, when I’m considering my regrets.
Or a telephone call—you wouldn’t even have to speak; we could
sit in silence, or sigh, until one of us slams down the receiver.
And then, there were more creative ways—once, a past lover
threw eggs at me as I left work, or I saw two men beat each other
like drums until the scream of fire-trucks and ambulances pulled them apart.
When my grandfather remarried, my grandmother sent him one white rose.
Think of all the objections at the alter—you could’ve been a baritone horn blasting
in the ears of tight-lipped and teary-eyed guests. Oh my dear, we have none of this—
nothing to crumple up, no way to feel the stars burn out in my hands.
About the author:
Chrys teaches college writing in the allergy inducing greenery of Portland, Oregon. In 2008, her chapbook, Wash Away: Marie Antoinette Visits My Mind, was published by Finishing Line Press, and her poetry has been published in many literary journals, most recently Atlanta Review, the minnesota review, and Smartish Pace. She dreams of adopting a goat and naming him Rick Steves.