we were an amalgam of apologies.
"i'm sorry," she told me one morning,
dawn light grey on her cheekbones,
"i'm sorry i made you carry my mistakes
around under your tongue."
"i'm sorry," i told her on the train.
my nails were painted yellow,
because i missed the sun.
"i'm sorry i left your shame
out on my laundry line. i never
meant to air your secrets."
"i'm sorry i rubbed salt on your
wounds," she says under an
oak tree in the park. "i thought it
would keep them from becoming
"i'm sorry i cursed your dead mother,"
i whispered, "and put salt in your tea.
i just wanted to see if you cry anymore."
"i'm sorry, i'm just sad."
"i'm sorry, i'm just tired."
"i'm sorry, i just miss you."
"i'm sorry, i'm just too
sorry to do this anymore."
and one day, our apologies