02
May
12

The Two of You


        There are two of you, aren't there?
        The two of you, to an only one left of me.
        That works. Don't we fit comfortably?
        
        I used David's pen. He had to be at work.
        I wrote you on the palm of my left hand.
        Allan took my right. He'll understand.
        
        I pressed my hands tight together palm to palm.
        You to him so close made cold skin sweat.
        Does that mean nothing? I forget.
        
        I rubbed the two together. I made you two pray.
        I mixed both hands' letters up inside my head.
        Love, words they made up said.
        
        You they tell me I'm supposed to have known well.
        Allan, not so, though already more than a name.
        Why do I see the two of you the same?
        
        I held my hands close everywhere on me I could reach.
        My feet, my hips, parts of my back, both breasts too.
        Nowhere was memory of you.
        
        I held my hands close everywhere on me I could touch.
        My thighs, my shoulders, all up in my hair.
        New you, I felt so everywhere.
        
        I held my hands close.  Everywhere on me I could scratch,
        I found a scar already there. Do any match yours?
        When all else dies, love endures.
        
        Your name.  His. I wrote the two of you on my hands.
        They're both blurred now. I held you to my eyes
        in tears a lifelong friend cries.
     
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1 Response to “The Two of You”


  1. 2012.05.06 at 4:47 pm

    Oh, Sara. This is beautiful, and heartbreaking. I have no idea what you have endured, but I know that your words endure. Every bit as beautiful as when I first fell in love with them. I cannot tell you what a smile they bring when I get a notification of a new poem of yours. Know you are being read, loved, thought of.


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