I thought you were there

by Margot Miller © 2006

I thought you were there when
I wasn’t. I thought I was the one
afraid, so accustomed to your letting
me apologize. I thought

you were the strong one just quiet,
you left me hanging
out alone, out loud, in public,
you slipped behind the barbeque, dipped
into the kitchen, turned

to the t.v., changed
the subject, you didn't wrap
your arm around my shoulder full
of pride and pleasure
in my voice or in my choice.

You let me speak and bit
your tongue waiting
for me to finish so
we could go home and you could pretend
it was over. You let me churn

inside and out until
I began to burn, you let me flirt
with death and did not speak. I thought
you were there and I wasn’t, but
I was there all along and you
had already gone.