4.18.2023

she needed someone I wasn't

it was to know a season 
had ended at one moment 
and I had turned 
toward winter, maybe 
a lifetime of winters. 
Then I thought of her 
working week after week 
in the office 
of a small contractor 
she said she hated 
and going home to the father 
she said she hated 
and the mother who went on 
about marriage and was 
she ever going to get out, 
and she just barely 22. 
Almost 30 years ago. 
She and I never saw 
each other after we 
got back to Detroit 
in the smoky light 
of early evening. 
I let her out 
a block from her house 
and said I'd call her, 
but knew I wouldn't 
knowing what I did 
about her life and how 
she needed someone 
I wasn't. I went back 
to my room and sat 
in the dark wondering 
how can I get out. 
I knew there must be 
millions of us, 
alone and frightened, 
feeling the sudden chill 
of winter, of time 
gathering and falling 
like a shadow across 
our lives. Wondering 
what was the answer. 
Only a boy, still alone, 
still solemn, turning 
in the darkness 
toward manhood, turning 
as the years turned 
imperceptibly, petal 
by petal, closing 
for the night, 
the question still 
unanswered, that question 
never to be asked again. 
 

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