Peony

Acacia or yellow
tulips won’t do. Lime
blossoms too much, bellflowers
not enough. No,

I choose you
because it was the heat
rising from my throat
across my cheeks

to my ears
that he wanted
to generate.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Our Saudade

It revolved around Boston,
the Cape, Amherst, the Vineyard, Woburn,
an entire state—

our common ground. You—
with your accent and clearly delineated roots. Me—
with a brief history,

my mother’s story, and an incurable longing
no word in English
could contain. All of our plotting

and heightened talk went nowhere beyond
imagination. Now that I know

you are back home, I’ll fly

East so we can finally spend a moment
together on this sacred turf. You—

ashes. Me—alive
more than ever, ready to be enough
for the both of us.

Force of habit that I keep talking
to him even if he has not responded

in more than a quarter century. Dead
for nearly a decade. Sorry

for this latest obsession
and the way I write around it

in circles, never piercing
the heart so I can move on.

This isn’t an amends. I see no curve

in the road, no opportunity to make a U-turn. No desire. No plea

for forgiveness. A status update—
nothing more.