To Rick, What I've Been Meaning to Say

by Mary D. Sanford

It is not up to me to punish--that is god's detail
no KP duty here--
we loll around on furlough, waiting to salute.

It's not up to me to mend your broken heart
10,000 prayer petitions
and the world is still the same.

Bitterness aside--I am okay with it
and okay with your death--frozen, yes,
numbed dumb against the mindless burn,
I'm swallowed by regret, a Jonah sitting nauseous in the whale,
impaled.

I wake from dreams
and stumble with your name
regretful, yes, at what was then and what
remained to come
a blighted bud, a fist smashed tight against
the knot
and no amount of watering
will modify the outcome, all the same.

You might have given us a chance--we tried and tried some more.
What scared you--that we'd get too close?
that we would see your face beneath the mask
and somehow judge you wrong?
What did you want--our lives to stop, beat chests, and then,
we throw ourselves against the tracks
and hope to get you back?

I have no words
to make this go away,
too many words I have for other things--
a glib response in classrooms where I'm queen--
these words don't work--the world is still the same,
and we survivors
flail against the rope,
our recompense each other,
our memory our hope.

The Author

Mary D. Sanford became a writer in the 2nd grade when her teacher made a big fuss over the 4-line rhyming poem she wrote. After writing for educational purposes for the past kazillion years (she has a Ph.D. in Adult Education plus 3 other degrees), she began to face her fears 2 summers ago and started writing regularly. Recently she wrote her very first short story. For the past 2 years she has been a regular contributer to the Beacon Hill News, a weekly SE Seattle newspaper. A divorced woman from New York, she makes her home in Seattle where she works as a community college professor, still talks fast with a 'funny' accent, and loves STRONG coffee and the lovely NW rain.