She waits on the hillside for him
To return from captivity,
From misunderstanding.
He had stolen what he gave to her;
She had stolen so much more.
Would he,
Who remembered all the insults they had taken from him,
Remember her
Who listened him into coherence?
She played with the necklace that he called pretty
Strung with the keepsakes of what they had together
— It was only worth itself —
But was the whole of the world she knew,
And so much less than the world she was enduring.
The astonishing woman can manufacture happiness, she thought,
All it takes is to make him free for laughter and dreaming.
She will write volumes on her own,
While knowing what he feels but cannot say.
Her eyes are locks that would open to be locked again.
If he returned, would he meet her expectations
Or could he meet, as a stranger, her stare?
There is so much nothing they must talk around,
So much to do that is not worth doing
Until its done.
She had given so much unanswered.
He had asked too much before he finally left.
Look at her, counting her fingers,
Trying to know what he thinks,
While any guess is hopeless,
And he was all too eager to tell her
When she loved him.
He may not need her again,
Although she seemed to fit completely inside him,
And she held him there.
And then he came, and he was gone.
