cold arms

that camping trip
my fiftieth birthday
all those Saturday nights

actually, none of that

hurts more than knowing 
I chose you and kept choosing you 
for far too long

that the first time we sat next to each other
with bbq wings for company
I knew you were smooth glass

cold arms
cardboard heart

the tiniest bird beat its wings
inside my chest
my own clear voice said 
not this one

I stepped forward and took your hand anyway

you were never anything but flat
I should have known 
by the way you washed your car
the way you kissed

that you read headlines, not heartbeats

I, up too late journaling,
steeped in moonlight
dreaming of roses and laughter
wanted so much more than that
and lost myself in hope