when i realized i’d never forgive you
when i saw the trumpeter blow
the horn, my jericho heart came down,
moved from flesh to fluid.
it wasn’t your hand i held, we hadn’t
spoken in months, but i’ll admit
that part of me pretended you were
him, not that you’d know. tendons
flexed as he played the brass, my breath
catching as i tried to keep from crying.
how long will it take to forget your hands
curling around a bottled neck, ungraciously
swigging glass to your lips. you aren’t
graceful, but still i’d rather it be your arms
touching mine when the lonesome lows
carried us home.