anniversary

I remember sitting in the kitchen by the telephone, waiting.
A friend was standing at the stove, watching water boil,
Another was crouching under the table
More than sure the sky was about to fall,
That the world was ending.
Addie was in the bathroom
Pissing on a pregnancy test.
We were all waiting.

I had just fallen out of a relationship—
My heart was raw.
You had just turned twenty-four
And you had an age complex.
You thought that I was too young for you,
So you fled the scene, like a child.

I tried to warm myself with a cup of piping hot coffee—
An attempt to psychically fan and rekindle the flames of dying love.
I burnt my tongue instead.

And as I pressed my hand to the window, the cold burned me through the glass as well.
The sky was grey, the landscape barren and dead.
It was winter, and we all wanted to die.

For a brief moment
I too believed the sky was falling
So I quickly drew the curtains
Shielding us from the world,
Trying to hide from the painful truths
Of our reality.

Addie emerged.
She was pregnant.
“How do I kill it?” she asked
As the water boiled over the brim of the pot.




It’s January
You recently turned twenty-five.
And still I find myself
Waiting by the telephone,
Waiting
For you to grow up
And call me.