It Happened
By DonnaG
Published: October 16, 2007

there’s
a
stain on
the floor still
where it happened last
winter when we were freezing cold

no
logs
for the
woodstove, no
money for hydro
both of us unemployed, in love

we
scrunched
under
flannel sheets
and thirteen quilts from
that smelly box in the attic

cold
toes
goosebumped
naked flesh
turned us on in ways
dead electricity wouldn’t

you
told
hot tales
of wonder
filled with talcum sand
warmed by tropical sun and rum

I
curled
into all
you brought, sucked
words of promise, stole
necessary heat from your soul

you
woke
tiptoed
silently
down the frozen stairs
into yet another morning

I
dreamt
of fire
carelessly
raging without end
in a large forest near Denver

scent
of
coffee
woke me, spoke
of donkeys climbing
with Juan Valdez in Ecuador

I
smiled
joyful
in this world
full of challenge that
two could turn into happiness

I
went
down to
share my thoughts
wrapped in blankets and
breathing the smell of perfection
and
found
morning
had cancelled
not only my dreams
but all your words of hope, as well

it
did
happen
even though
we said it couldn’t
all those lies we’d told just didn’t
work
she’d
found you
here with me
came loaded for bear
fully armed and prepared for this
one
last
standoff
kitchen floor
be damned, it was red
California tile we had bought
on
sale
laughing
at the guy
who’d tried to tell us
it had come straight from Mexico
when
we
knew that
shade of red
could only be found
where the earth was truly tilted

now
that
red floor
is darker
red where you collapsed
felled by a bitter, revengeful
wife
who
couldn’t
leave well where
it truly belonged
safe in the arms of another

and
now
when I
look at the
mark that’s behind me
on that tile floor as I’m trying
to
leave
it speaks
of undrunk
fragrant coffee from
a warmer place than we lived in

and
now
you’re gone
I can’t go
without making one
last pot and I will drink to us
to
that
heated
morning love
most souls only find
on TV and in romance books

bye
hon
now I’m
travelling
to relive that time
in a courtroom full of others
who
do
not see
the stain on
our floor or the mark
she aimed at for the wrong reasons
there
may
be one
in that room
who will understand
that true love is something that lives
in
ice
better
than in heat
generated by
misunderstanding and mistrust