During spring-cleaning
I found the video
Margo lent me—
from when she remembered me,
when I knew where she lived.
I never returned it.
We all get busy do—
work; marriages breaking,
school again—
excuses
that sound thinner now.
Two fusty cats,
we lounged into the last patch of sun
on her deck—
Fall coming on.
I finished her sentences,
she started mine.
We were each other’s favorite.
Like hand mirrors.
Margo—
fair and forgiving,
my excess never let her down.
Her own daughter—
resenting Margo—
in and out of mental hospitals,
preferring electro-shock
over her husband’s criticism.
Before I knew her,
after the divorce,
her shelves stuffed
with shells, feathers,
photos of wolves,
signed chapbooks.
Any of them
would hold her memory better
than this video.
Margo, your cobby whelp
packed you up,
moved you to the eastside—
where you forgot
me.
When I was left the marriage
when I finished the triple degrees,
when I was done with solitude,
I tried to find you—
through a friend of a friend of a friend.
As though you stood still in time.
You said that I seemed nice,
You said I could call again
though my incomprehensible story
wore you out.
You didn’t know
your address,
your city,
the name of the home
where you lived.
I had the tether, Margo.
I dropped it.
I still have your video.
It wasn’t meant
to be a good-bye gift.
(c) 2008
