So, yes, I burned
The bridge some twenty
Paces back,
No regret,
Without hesitation.
Anger, mixed with
Despair allowed me
To wash my hands,
Clean of a score
Of years of memory.
The links--
Once golden,
And highly prized--
Are covered with dust,
Consumed by
Cobwebs
Of silence.
I knew what
I was doing,
With an evening’s
Anger still in my head,
Simmering for hours--
Too hot to touch.
When I left,
When I lit the match
And watched the flame
Greedily devour all
Secrets, unbreakable
Bonds
That would forever
Separate me
From a childhood friend.
We weren’t kids
Anymore. We were
Building diverging
Lives where
There would be no
Spare room,
No empty chair,
No place to sleep,
Or talk
Until dawn.
Strangers, once, we
Are strangers once again.
Copyright © 2011 by the author
