lin is reading some of my old poems

who is this terri

that seems to have obsessed you

marketa rolls her eyes

an old flame   the embers lingered   i say

apparently   says lin

still linger   she asks   i'm no fool   i say   no

grown cold 

it was a long time ago   and very brief

brief but intense   lin says

true enough   i say   

that's a good way to put it   

the poems make for interesting reading   she says

they approximate reality   i say   the reality was never that tidy

~

a fragment of combustible material   spent

grown cold

an ember in a different state of being   

as terri is still terri    

and i a semblance of myself

something remains beyond the blackness

still glows   still warms   her absence did not leave an absence

a void   a blackhole

it left memories   lessons learned and fondness

i owe her something for those lessons

what currency would suffice

i see no road to remuneration beyond memory   

as lin reads the poems she'll know this   

something remains   

~

lin   i say   ask marketa about her past

but i say it sotto voce

marketa's past is past   no words

i learned not to ask   

it is hard   knowing there are secrets

perhaps not secrets   but pain

her silence i liken to a castle's defense

drawbridge   portcullis   moat    knights in armor   

difficult to breach

she's a sweetheart   but reserved

i have stopped asking   

i have not stopped wondering

i assume the worst without evidence

rather   the evidence is right before me 

~

lin closes the laptop

marketa has never read the poems

for her there is today   and possibly a tomorrow

she takes nothing for granted

gives herself freely 

holds something back for herself

i never touch the innermost part

in my aloneness

i bring forth the cold ember

but this makes poor symbology

a cold ember is charcoal

not what i mean

i ask lin   what cools on a hot summer night

warms on a cold winter night