She clutched to herself
a private pain that eight years of knowing her
never disclosed to me, but she'd hint at it.
It made her drink whiskey and get into
fights at bars with women and with men.
It made her pull reckless stunts
like swimming in the Atlantic
during a hurricane, or jumping
into the Fort Point Channel on a dare.

I wanted to soothe her pain,
to kneel at her feet and kiss it away,
to cradle her in my arms
and let her weep over the wound
until she was solaced and calm.
But there's no way that she
would have ever permitted such a thing.