The
summer he didn’t propose to me
I
broke a bit for a while
I
threw up some armor
Filled
in the fractures when they came
On
weeknights
I
would meet Sarah and Emily
at
the Cat and Fiddle on Hollywood Boulevard
We’d
grab a bench on the outdoor patio, lie
and
tell the waitress we’d order food in a while
And
watch the sun set rose-colored behind the buildings
People
sitting with their elbows on tables
Hyped
up after work and happily chatting
I’d
suck on a wine glass
Never
getting as drunk as I wanted
But knowing
if I kept it up I’d be sick
We
would talk about anything
except
for the fact that he hadn’t asked me
We’d
make jokes and choke and spit up
It
was
A line
to the courage I required
to
drive home and sit silently beside him on the couch
A cord
to the restraint I would need
not
to perch on the red brick steps that led to our backyard
and
scratch my arms with my fingernails until they bled
It
was the only reason I did not disappear that summer
But instead
kept coming, coloring myself back in
until
I was solid again
