You -- you who I had sworn
would leave nothing behind.
I would excise each gentle phrase,
memory of gardens and moments of grace,
impassioned touch and love of words,
of life, of love.
Yet look -- here you remain,
revealed in the small nesting place
made inside the battered paths
of memory. I find
to my chagrin, that I no longer wish
to excise that love, that life.
Indeed, it has become a part of me;
I cannot live without it.
And if you broke my heart, once
not so long ago, no matter.
Hearts will heal.
The gifts you gave me linger on.
One day, I may even thank you.
*****
M.A. Mohanraj
April 1, 1995