Je suis désolé de n’avoir pas été comme tu


what seemed like forever

and was perhaps

some lost sand

sifting through light

slower when observed

turning like eager sun dial

face capturing shape and shadow

as the moon faced women

blue in Picasso’s rough brush

your edges sleek impossibly

by Masters deft curve, mimicking

nature readily, surely as time will

erode the fullness of our cheeks

your high bones hold you up

that half smile imperceptable

through memory shaking her

coat free of rain drops

as we drift further into long night.

I recall being good at Tug of War

in school with my artex white shirt rolled up

the thin fabric of my skirt flapping

dangerously high, leaning in for the pull

boys on the other end heaving, purposing

(this was always about more than a rope you know)

their extraordinary need to dominate and

our quiet, tugging urgency to defy

even then I might have upset the historical balance

made you proud, if you’d been watching

the length of rope dipping into glassy water

with the weight of decades, days spent

trying to form words of consolation where none

seem worthy enough.

You have slim bones that cannot pull heavy

rope from weighted oceans and even if

your arms were strong, I wonder if you would

gather me to you, within the eye of rushing storm

our fragile satellites eclipsing, resolving

sorrow with gentle grace, unleavened bread

yet to rise

to feel your perfumed palm on my forehead

the beneficence of your gaze, or hear

your voice, its sonorous depths, call for

me and gladly, I would present myself

for any time in your light is time lived

well and good and whole.

in your absence there is only

shadow and cold

reminding me, estrangement is unnatural

when it pares two segments of the same orange

apart, with no mend, balm or eulogy

great enough to salve the hurt

building within us, mountains of

dried salt from spent regret grown


I long and shall always long

to return to you

in that hour where memory

tells me

we laughed and

in your eyes I saw

my center

verdant and blooming

with the tender cobalt nectar

reserved for what can never

be replaced.


19 thoughts on “Je suis désolé de n’avoir pas été comme tu

  1. And a Happy New Year to you too. I missed you posting recently, but figured you’ve been a bit busy with 3, count them, 3 anthologies in the works. I have no word yet on when I’ll be able to get the shot. Our County Health Dept. here is understaffed and overloaded, but they hope to have a schedule out soon.

  2. Hi Candice, and happy new year… Love your french ‘Titles’ that make me search for the translations… and this is full mystery and intrigue..”I’m sorry,I wasn’t like you”.. and here I am listening to Sivert Hoyem’s brand new song(out today), which seems to suit your poem… enjoy.. 😀😍

  3. I was watching that on the news and despairing. My friends in France say the same is true there. It seems to me they should have thought about this in all the months leading up to the advent and distribution of the vaccine. I realize it’s easy for me to say that, but really, surely?

  4. Maybe once the current anthology projects are off to the presses you’ll get a bit more writing time until the next inspiration hit the group.

  5. I just got the first shot about an hour ago (the Moderna version). The community groups had the process well organized and easy process, very well done. I get the #2 on 2/17.

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