The Ambassador’s Message

Can it be possible
I’ve walked away from everyone
I’ve loved, watched them
roll off time’s edge,
calling myself “clean,”
an innocent, laughing
like a madwoman,
bloated with truth?

A father, mother.
Lovers gone. Now you.

Was it my solitary nature,
my need to sort it out first,
only to ease my guilt
for dragging you into this mess
as our silences glazed into years,
when I’m the one
who should’ve stayed put,
bathed your feet in pomegranate juice?

Can I answer this question?
Can a hostage speak freely?

One evening at summer’s end,
you locked yourself out,
left your furniture for someone else
to dust off with a wet cloth.
So there we both were:
I sitting blindfolded in a corner,
while you were no where to be seen,
heard, or found again.