I wrote this poem for Mr. Carter's Amazing Poetry Class this summer. I think the idea was sparked by Elizabeth Bishop's "Argument," which I wrote a paper on in the spring and pretty much adored. Relationships tend to be much stronger once they weather a few storms, but there's always a risk involved with fights, especially the first one. But who doesn't love conflict resolution?
First Fight
It happened on a Wednesday morning.
I brushed the breakfast crumbs away
and heard your knock – you handed me
my book (a Chesterton, I think),
and sat down at the table.
I poured us Stumptown coffee
while we talked of books,
the morning sky, your grinding job,
our coming weekend trip. I remember very
clearly what you said then, that dulled
the dreamer’s shine I’d painted
over the trip, and shattered morning's peace.
I fought back, of course, surprised
by the sudden poison of my own bitter jabs.
I wept and ran outside, laid my hands and cheek against
the ivy-spotted brick of my apartment wall.
how long I stood there, pressed against
the roughened clay, whispering “I’m sorry”
into a tiny wasp-nest hole, as if
you could hear me
through the pile of earth and wood.
How long I stood there, before you came
and leaned against the wall beside me.
We did not speak; not even
when your hand found mine beneath the ivy.
Later, we went inside, made more coffee,
sipped sweet reconciliation from a cup.
But I remember most the feel of your fingers
in mine, warm and strong
beneath the thick and waxy emerald of the leaves.
