C. B. Anderson

Disunity

Bolt the door, turn off the outside light,
climb up the stairs and plump your pillows, dear.
Try remembering the salty night
we coupled underneath the willows near

the pond.  Imagine now were more like then,
when consequences somehow seemed less real;
imagine how we’d do it all again
with no concern for how we’ll later feel.

Or, if it better suits you, just pretend
what happened never happened and avoid
denatured joy regrets can never mend --
forget the happy ending dawn destroyed.
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A bed’s been made, but no one’s bound to sleep
in it except the solitary maid
who pulls the laundered covers up to keep
at bay the thief of whom she’s grown afraid.

No vow I make can penetrate the callus
grown thick around her burned, twice-chary heart;
to thaw the fastness of her winter palace
is far beyond my own imperfect art.