I Am Guilty

I called you,
I did.

I am quite guilty of this:

I was going to read you
a poem he graciously sent me.

It would likely
make you cry,
as I am now weeping,
and I knew that
when I dialed.

I didn’t even try
to stop my fingers
or my heart
from calling you,
as I told myself
it would be a
good cry to have.

Soul washing tears would fall,
and surely it would be
the kind of cry that matters,
creating a moment that
would change
your whole vision.

The change
would not be
from the salty water
I knew would flood into
and slide out of
your inky dark eyes

from listening
to a story
about salty water
into a ship
as travelers and
their whole lives
slid wasted,
entirely lost
into an inky dark sea.

The change
would come
as I read his words
because you would now
clearly see
what mattered to your heart
most was not slipping into
the inky dark sea
right behind them
entirely lost
without leaving behind
what you believed
should survive
your own travels.

I am guilty of this:

I wanted you to cry
because then I would know
through my own tears,
in my own heart
that you’d heard what
in his poem.

And oh,
I am so guilty of this
and admit through those tears:

I called you because
I need to matter to you
whom I love
and believe in
so when I slip into that
same inky darkness
at the end of my travels
everything I am
and what I had to give
is not entirely lost,
even if I’m guilty of
making you cry.

~ cj 2012.10.16

written to a friend through my own tears after reading Titanic by Edward Povey

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2 Responses to I Am Guilty

  1. Steve says:

    That’s deep CJ! Inky darkness deep. I like it!

    • cjromb says:

      Thx, Steve! 🙂 I’m going to ask the person whose poem I wrote this about if I can also post his poem. It was beautiful!

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