My girlfriends would have said,
I know he's a jerk, but he is good-looking,
wouldn't you go out with him
just once,
and his friends would've said,
Would ya poke her,
and they would've laughed when he said,
sure,
if she asked me nice,
and our worlds would've barely touched
and we wouldn't have passed each other often in the halls,
and we wouldn't have thought about each other
except at times, when we passed too closely in the halls,
and even then, neither of us
would've thought about the other
past the moment.
He and I were born the same year,
we both had parents who never divorced
and should have,
we both watched “The Simpsons”,
and watched the Wall come down.
He and I should forever be divided,
and yet,
like a girl in love,
every day, for months,
I thought about this man,
and talked about this man incessantly
like a girl in love,
and pored over his picture
and bored my friends
and hunted this man's soul
as if I were a girl in love,
but I am not—
a girl in love.
I am told by some
that forgiveness isn't necessary here,
survival,
mere survival,
is counted as a win.
But I am told by others,
as we look into the abyss
so the abyss looks into us.
Now I think
if he should find himself, in turn,
the violated one,
and I would not fight as hard for him
as for myself,
then this matter of forgiveness—
is a dodge.