What transpired or what we wanted to happen?
Dream or lie?
Memories fade, re-draw themselves, splice scenes,
dispossess dialogue, cut characters, change
backdrops, alter sequencing. The audience of one
grows listless: I’ve seen this show before, know
the outcome, can recite every line. I bristle
the revision, hail the sanctity of the original.
I want to see that version, this a blasphemy.
I can’t say exactly why, can’t prove what
was altered, who was supposed to garner sympathy.
It didn’t go down like this. Strings slip through,
my grasp no longer tight. There is no more
summer camp, winter break, cap or gown, bridal
veil or canopy, all-night phone calls winding
a thick cord around my fingers. Even sumptuous
Chocolate Heath Bar Crunch had its season.
Time rewrites grief. Missing that ice cream
no different than missing you.