Remember when we met on OkCupid?
You called the profile picture of me in scorpion pose
beneath a palmetto tree playful and suggestive.
How long can you hold that? you asked, and for maybe two minutes
I was rare and witty, a smart romantic comedy.
Dear Forgiveness, I waited three hours
for you at the corner table of a bistro renowned for its kale crisps.
When you didn’t show up, I gave the world
my phone number, I resorted to the usual shock-and-awe —
your empty chair like a burning acre,
my tongue like the cotton plugging an aspirin bottle.
Even before the headache arrived, I was treating it
with blackout blinds or the caffeine cure. One vacancy
follows another; have you noticed? Pills plopped
into a clammy palm — full-hollow things,
as in hobbies or strong opinions.
Dear Forgiveness, I have found the missing footage
of the little girl who got none.
I have gobbled all of the cherries you said we’d eat
together. I have gobbled all of the consecrated fruits,
and I’m not sorry.about the author