Afterthoughts

I know that I am filled with contradictions.

When you broke my heart another time,

I pushed you to the outskirts of my mind 

And often I wonder if you can feel the distance.

The absence of lavender when I cross your mind.

While it is true that it was your hand that set the city ablaze,

It was I that locked the gates behind you as it burned.

It was my city and therefore it was my ruin.

And why would you return to ashes?

There is no such thing as a mutual exile.

But if for a moment we forgot about the wreckage in which we now exist,

I could tell you that often I wonder

if you’re proud of me

if you hear my voice on the radio

see my name in the byline 

and recognize your image, your father’s image

in the stories that I write.

I’ve begun to rebuild the city — sweep away the ashes.

But in the quiet moments,

I can almost hear the crackling of what used to be.

The contradiction of when heavy was the head that held the crown 

But soft were your hands beneath my head when you laid me down to rest.

Do you miss the city that held you and the woman who loved you? 

Whenever I smell smoke, I look for you.