First time, it was "Varying Distances" which I really liked, but the poem changed on me, and I don't think it fits now. The unofficial title is "Stories" but it doesn't seem right either... I don't know. I keep going back to that famous Cool Hand Luke quote, "What we've got here is... a failure to communicate." Insert appropriate southern accent. But here it is.
1.
Once at the kitchen table, he told her one of his stories.
It could’ve been the declaration she wanted badly to hear,
but he gave no indication that it wasn’t just another tale.
So after the telling, she shrugged and said nothing: it was
too close for comfort. To her surprise, he shoved away from
the table, yelling, Dammit, what else do you want me to say?
It was then she realized she wanted to wrap her arms around
him and press her ear to his chest. The look in his eyes said
it was too late.
2.
Their story ended before it could really begin. It was fear
and arrogance that made her waste the time; as for him,
she really couldn’t tell. Perhaps she refused to see clearly—
she was steeped in her imagined sufferings and no one else
could be hurting as much. He had always been shy, and now
took to drinking away his inhibitions: he said what he wanted
and forgot it the next day. Besides, she couldn’t believe him
when it really mattered. Their hearts stretched and yearned,
afraid to trust.
3.
of this, she would’ve shook her head and cried, certain that
he never understood her. So he never asked her to stay, while
she can’t imagine how she can come back. Now, two thousand
miles away and in different time zones, they exchange stories:
she talks of the new and exciting things she’s done; he insists
nothing has changed since she left. Both say what they think
the other wanted to hear; they both hear what the other never
meant to say.
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