thorns and other maladies

64

i wonder if you'll ever understand
because there you go
crashing your way back in
—smashing through the windows
ripping the door off its hinges
tipping over bookshelves
bursting all the light bulbs
in the house that i'd just fixed up—
with so much concern
for all the wrong things
and little care for the right ones.
you're careful not to break the vase
but have no concern wrecking the table
you place the pillows gently on the floor
before you tear up the mattress.
no i don't think you'll ever understand
not when you've moved so far
but you've only gone sideways.
you're so different now
—with a new haircut
and shiny white teeth
and a penchant for charm—
but you haven't really changed.
you're still the same boat
that calmed the sea
and sank an anchor in her.
you're still the same assassin
who fumbled the kill.
you're still the same god
who expects me to sacrifice myself
at the alter of your worship—
no i don't think you'll ever understand.
i don't think you ever could.