We were starving artists
wishing for Paris & popularity; too broke
to do anything about it.
Our small, studio apartment was
enough for us then. If only I knew
what I know now.
If only I could find
where you went
that last day in August.
The night before we had loved hard
& I could see something else
in the back of them bedroom eyes.
Something dark & different. Often
I've wondered if it was the struggle
of trying to be famous. My loving you
was never enough.
It isn't fair. You know I wanted it
just as much as you; & I
didn't walk away. I didn't choose
to lose myself in the bottom
of bottles & drunken dreams.
I had no choice.
After you left I gave birth to your eyes.
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