She leaves you in your bed, reclining frostily against the pillows.
“I’m going home,” she declares, hands on hips, big girl style
But feeling like a little girl seeking out the sanctity of her room,
Chastised for a misbehavior
Papa’s stern, cold, angry eyes willing her head to bow in contrition.
Your reproach, when it swings her way, reduces her to tears,
“I’m going home,” she says, feeling like a coward.
Knowing full well this isn’t the grown-up thing to do.
Knowing that in another month or two, if all goes as planned,
She won’t have that out anymore.
Your home will be her home and
When things get hard,
She won’t be able to run away.
There will be no place to run to.
She sits in her living room drinking rum and coke,
smoking the endless cigarette,
Listening to the Cowboy Junkies.
What she really wants is for you to come after her.
Because while she is always the one to run away,
She is also the one to run back.
What constitutes the act of melding, commitment, union?
Is she capable of becoming to you what you want her to be?
She is not perfect.
She would have you walk into her house, right up to her
and without a word between you put your arms around her.
You would start to gently sway,
She would begin to say ‘I’m sorry’
And this time you would hear it
And believe it
And shush her and say it doesn’t matter
That you love her, and know she loves you.
You’d hold her, so tight she’d fear she would lose her breath,
So tight she would lose her breath, but she wouldn’t care
because she was in that safest of places that feels like
no other, sacred and prized and cherished and yearned for.
And will she sing, and will she dance, and will she forever?
And will he sing, and will he dance, and will he forever?
She wants to believe in the redeeming power of love.
She wants to believe that you will trust she’ll be fair and loyal and true,
that she would never wrong you, or hurt you on purpose.
That you will accept her for who she is,
Foibles and falling short of ideal notwithstanding.
That it will be enough.
That she will be enough.
She needs you to say, Come home
Not because she was right and you were wrong,
Not because it doesn’t matter that she hurt your feelings
Or breached your sense of justice and civility.
But because you love her,
Because you don’t want her to run away when she gets scared,
even though you know she will run back.