the chain from off the door

i wanted to write you poetry but you wouldn’t let me

i wanted to write you poetry but you wouldn’t let 
me. i wouldn’t let myself. our two favorite words 
were “not yet.” i left my notebook behind and fell, 
instead, like the first snowfall of winter: soft. you’ve 
always had a thing for girls with dark hair, so you 
owe my father some thanks. you’ve always had a 
thing for girls with slender eyes, and the smoke 
from your burned bridges kept me squinting, so 
we got along okay until i decided that i was ready 
to tell the truth. and our two favorite words used to
be “not yet.” now they are “not anymore.” it took me
a while, but i told the truth. i should have just written 
you a poem, back when i still believed in poetry.