Only When You Accused Me of Starving Myself

Let’s agree to disagree
about this anger
I don’t feel. Only
those numbers in your handwriting
erased from a chalkboard
30 years ago know
how we were supposed to add up

or not. A psychology
of emotions cannot qualify

the spirit in the slate,
a song over the dugout,
stanzas hidden in the threshold
we passed through
so many times
without thinking to pause
long enough to honor the reveal.

Was It the Best She Would Do? (Day 2,600: Take 2)

A stanza added
to three quiet ones—
it could become a record
of the commotion caused
by one silent train
rolling in, another one
about to depart.