Untilted

Sorry I haven’t put up any thing since I got back from Oxford, but I’ve been looking for the rhythm and rhyme.


The scream from her eyes
said it could not be unsaid.
I had carelessly introduced
a malignancy into our lives,
which would dine on grievance
until only husks of memory bide.

To me it became shame.
To her it became reproach.
To me it became resentment.
To her it became reprisal.
To me it became petulance.
To her it became contempt.

My guilt, always there,
would build until
her blame, always there,
merged enshrined confrontation,
now connected by disinterest,
into lives of joyless habit

I’ve lost something precious.
I wish I could take it back.