my dearest and most sweet
it wasn’t possible, possibly; there is no
reason to have expected being given
anything, and then there was you. i’m
sorry. it’s an unfortunate truth that
our relationship must be predicated – at least
in part – on fear; i love you. people will
hate you or be mystified, they’ll make demands
and not tell you what they are. people are
confusing, sometimes; confused at other times.
let’s just not make a big deal about it. eventually,
you will understand that we’re in constant
danger of dreams and being in love; you’re
welcome. it’s my burden and boon to ensure that you
cannot let your own certainty get in the way of
anything; to facilitate your feeling absurd
in times of banality; to conjure magic in times
of nothingness; to break open all the vaults
of the world for you. it’s not fair. it’s scantly
peaceful, it’s strange, it’s exciting and, shortly:
imperfect. if our thing goes suitably, it’s likely you’ll
grow resentments and probably experience a
generalized or particular loathing, though these
are things easily displaced or mislaid; i love
you. i’m sorry. it’s not fair. you’re welcome.
Iris Appelquist is a single mom and a writer in Kansas City. Her most recent book of poems, 'where we were we were there,' was published in March.
