Spring

Instead of picking up my phone

I pick up my pen and write about

what happened

You said you’d come after me

You said you’d take me to

the spring

I wonder what your hair looks like glistening in the daylight

Above the water, blue and green

I imagine you

Holding me in the depths of the chilly chasm

My legs wrapped tightly

around your waist

Chills from your touch intensified by the brisk aquifer

Would take away my breath

And warm my longing soul

How harrowing— it’s just

a dream:

A nightmare living with

a false memory

of that time at the spring

My pen can’t right the wrong

that’s in my bosom

The ”what if’s” the “could have been’s”

A spring of affliction.