I’m holding onto the arm
of the past while we walk
through the graveyard of our
misfortune. I can’t escape
the color of the rose,
the flushed face above all
those thick thorns that cull me
from the herd of girls who
follow you. My desire
is hidden in your back
pocket like a fat wallet
flooded with photographs.
This afternoon is not ripe
enough for war. I’d rather
be ushered out these gates
onto the glittering
sidewalk far from any place
we’ve ever called home. Don’t
remind me that the children
won’t forgive us. This marriage
will never be a pleasant
surprise. Any truth between us,
will be buried beneath the fallen
stones and grasses. I don’t need
your forgiveness any more
than I need this memory.
Maureen Daniels grew up in England and Northern California. She has a B.A. from CUNY Hunter College and an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from CUNY City College. She is the winner of The Doris Lipmann Prize, The Stark Short Fiction Award, The Audre Lorde Award, and others. Her poems and short stories have appeared in publications such as Lambda Literary, Pindeldyboz, Nibble, Scapegoat Review, and others. She currently lives in New York City with her family and a Dalmatian named Pink.