John Straw The 2River View, 7.2 (Winter 2003)

Neglected to Say

I neglected to tell you

about the love summer when herons were drooping above fourposter beds
and cranes were coming into our minds on random mornings as we lit
into the cream centers separated by the quivering voice of a young
story just forming on our lips as the interstate closed in on the corn silk.

Or did I mention it?

I may have neglected to say

how much we depended on stained mattresses resting on wood
floors below walls carved with initial love as we were so careful
of the feelings that fell like splinters around our sandals handmade
from the skills passed down by grandmothers who knew leather.

Or did I tell it?

But I know I must have neglected to describe

the terrain outside the falling house filled with smoke and lyrics
as we viewed it through a nervous calm inspired by mums in the window
box hanging askew I was told by neighbors who crossed the street
only on odd days after the moon had run its course in their lives.

Or did you already know it?

Oh, I’m sure I neglected something

that would have helped you to know me better and live my life
as it was on the day the rain spoiled the mood we were building
for a decade that would end without any solidness as it transferred
the whole landscape from country to urban and back by way of the river.

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