If I Were Going to Tell You

I’d probably say

he complained a lot,

claimed he could feel

till my eyes misted over

if I loved him I’d

trust him because

he knew what he was

doing, which I don’t

doubt, and years later

I heard he complained to

another woman, used

that unsung weight,

that rock in the bottom

of the pit that was me,

to make her feel

sorry for him.

And he shed

real tears.