Conflict: resolving

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.