The Roses in the Way

I know that when we were young
All I wanted was for you to clear a path through the roses, for me

My love was a mirror for every blow I dealt you
With shards of broken hearts

But now, on the fringe of a blanket
Left over from our wasted honeymoon
I can watch the sun
And reminisce about how we used to keep up appearances for one another

I believe that when we were sharing the picture show
I asked you politely to clear a path through the roses, for us

If I’d clung to the straps of that golden negligee,
Maybe you would’ve needed me a little more

No matter how hard I searched,
I failed to discover the new you in the puddle of vomit
In the corner of the men’s bathroom at the bar
Or in the bottom of my glass of iced milk—still hearing you call me a “pre-pube”

But my heart can’t take the hard stuff,
So you left

When I ran into you at our daughter’s reception
I begged you to clear a path through the roses, for the bud

So I creaked on
Every step
Hoping not to break

I was reeled in with the other dusty lives,
And I sit at my window, watching you dance silently between the stars

I saw you in the nurse,
My chair,
The chess board in the recreation room where I lost control of my bladder and was just another digit or two

I beseeched you from below,
From this heat and frustration,
To clear a path through the roses,
For what’s left