Tag: Poetry

The rain on the leaves
and the wet sidewalk
were like one of my favorite paintings.

The fragmented message coming through
was a surprise and a new opportunity –
new experiences and new destinations –
all that I wanted this day to be about,
only brought to perfection by sharing it with you.

Your voice was distracted…
maybe the slightest bit annoyed.

Maybe that’s not quite right,
but there was something going on beneath the surface.

Maybe you dreaded hearing from me now.
Maybe you didn’t want to have this conversation.
Or maybe you were just distracted by your students.
I don’t know.

The show I’d read about was at 7:30;
you thought I couldn’t be there in time but I was only 6 blocks away.

You thought I wouldn’t want to go,
so why the offer? I find so much of it confusing.

You said the ticket was mine until 6pm,
but at 6:02 (when I finally got through)
you were taking someone else instead.

Should I ask you to ask them to relinquish their ticket.
The ticket that was mine…except that it never was.

You ask if I should ask them to relinquish the ticket.

Relinquish is a verb that means to voluntarily cease to keep or claim;
to give up.

So the ticket was given but not to me;
it was not mine to keep or claim despite the promise of 6pm.

And now I would have to beg someone to relinquish what should never have been theirs
so that what never was mine could fulfill the promise of last night’s imaginings.

Standing there, in the rain, cold and wet in that beautiful painting
I wept when you said you’d call me back.

I wasn’t sure where I should go.
Maybe there was still a chance?
Coffee shop on the corner.
Hot food and cold peppermint.
And the return call letting me know
that you couldn’t reach her.

She was on her way
with the ticket that I’d been promised
on a rare day when I wasn’t vomiting too much
and had travelled through tunnels to reach
the famous Central Park.

Did I want to meet her? You asked me.
No. I didn’t want to meet the woman
who would sit with you 6 blocks
from where I sat in the coffee shop.
No. That would hurt too much.
I didn’t want to cry in this crowded little beverage store.

I walked back to the park.
I called friends but almost nobody answered.
I spoke to my mother…
trying to get back in the painting
but I’d been locked out.

I left voicemails and texts
but there was nobody there to console me.

I took the train home. I walked to work and got my money.
I smiled and I tried to get back in the painting
but it was so far away that it was all but faded now.

I came home. I found some amount of solace here.
I found peace in Facebook posts that I wouldn’t tag you in.
But when I went to text you that I loved you and that I hoped you’d had a good time
I read the rest of the texts you’d sent me on the train home…
and then I was angry and hurt again.

I don’t have a ticket to give you.
I can’t even offer it to the bitch you went with
because she had every right to go; far more right than me.
Because she had a ticket, you see.

I’m angry. I’m hurting.
I’m angry that I’m hurting
and hurting because I’m angry.

The lie of 6pm hurts me.
And the thought (before the truth)
that my being there so close to the opera house meant something;
that light hearted faith hurt me too.

I don’t have a ticket.
But I have something more valuable.
I have forgiveness.

Forgiveness for the lie of 6pm can be yours
if you tell me you’ll never again
put me in a position to beg
for someone else
to voluntarily cease to keep
something you offered me first.

I need forgiveness too.
Forgiveness from you
for being so caught off guard again
that I refused to answer.

I should have demanded that fucking ticket,
as you’ll likely tell me.

Forgiveness for myself for allowing my belief to hurt me.
I can do that.
I’m in a strange painting of my life after all.

I’m self aware on a level I’ve never been before.
And I can forgive myself for thinking
there was something waiting for me at the opera house door.

The painting of my life is wild and vivid
and it clashes with the world around me,
and it illuminates my every flaw and finds them beautiful.

Tell me you love me I say to you and the reflection before me.
Tell me you respect me.
And tell me there will be no more broken 6pm promises.

Tell me that and I will relinquish whatever you like.

Written By Jason Wright
April 30, 2014