A villanelle from last spring. Happy Solstice, folks. ♥
“The Pact“
I dive headlong into a hidden pool of promise
to deliver you an overdue apology,
although I sense that my belated effort is fruitless.
My guilt is a dead bird floating on the surface
of a history we deny with purpose, rhythmically
bobbing along over secret pools of promise.
Back then, you presented me with your gift, wrapped in a kiss,
and I, an anguished little girl, tossed it out callously.
Even then, I had a sense my efforts were fruitless.
When you sought her out for comfort, something felt amiss,
but I dismissed it, entertaining insincere revelry,
and dove headlong into different, cooler pools of promise.
Then, from that cheap balcony, we used the springtime premise
to propose a future future. It soothed my anxiety,
although I got that the effort was misguided, fruitless.
You offer me coy distance in the hopes that I’ll dismiss
that old covenant as just impetuous fallacy,
but I’ve willingly chosen untested pools of promise,
knowing that all these efforts are belated and fruitless.