You Can Count on Me
Poetry Sunday

You Can Count on Me

It may not be pretty, but it’s real.

Photo by Caroline Hernandez on Unsplash

We both know it’s coming.

There will come that day, that time, that moment

When it is my turn to do this thing or be that way

And I will blow it.

An unimaginable, terrible dilemma will erupt in my life

And I will choose the option you think is wrong —

And somehow, some way, you will let me know what you think

In silence, in indifferent shrug, in slanted glance armed with arrow.

Most of the time, all is well.

We exult at synchronicity and happenstance,

Admire shimmers of silver and flowers that thrive between the cracks,

Watch cardinals shoot across the yard, and rub the dog’s head.

We share so much, understand so well that words are not needed

For us to understand exactly what the other feels, thinks, and loves.

However…

You can count on me to do the wrong thing.

Awkward me sends messages within messages she doesn’t know are there

Until someone kind points them out to me and I gape in horror

At broadcasting that inconvenient, unbearable secret we all know.

If there’s a wrong way, any possible misconstruing, I will find it.

And I will plunge into it with every ounce of foolhardy I possess.

I am that reliable, that consistent in seeing the world differently

From you and everyone else, out of whack, out of step, out of gear.

That reminds me.

I know how drive a stick shift.

I can change gears as smooth as silk whisper on your cheek.

I can ride merrily through desolation and heartbreak and wonderful hard

With enthusiastic, wholehearted appreciation for the moment

Knowing that I am blowing it and there will be consequences

From dust-churning spins, artful swerves, and taking wrong roads.

I am sorry for all the things I have yet to do wrong —

Knowing that they are coming won’t prevent nor soften them.

My actions are no brilliant premeditated evil of unbridled ego and genius,

But simply small and huge fear, baffled into awkward and wrong footed

Stumbling blindly through a strange land, hoping for your hand,

Praying that you’ll forgive me as I forgive you.
['Louise Foerster']
['Poetry', 'Relationships', 'Poetry Sunday', 'Self', 'Sisters']