Elbrus

I’ve never written you a poem
That didn’t in some way feature
Me crying on the bathroom floor;
Me lying wakeful, existing until dawn;
Me telling yet another woman on the phone:
Yes, he has a girlfriend, Yes, he is in love
With sobbing, sleepless, shameful me.

I somehow never wrote in joy, about
Choosing names for our children,
Dream-planning long quiet holidays,
Or what we’d wear at our wedding.
I do remember we did those things;
A film with elaborate costumes and sets
And a pair of stars I could never believe.