Gathering Together

I’m Sorry (for my husband) by Theresa C. Newbill


Rising waters give way to a fractured pipe. 
There’s a picture of you I particularly love, 
smiling blue eyes, devilish grin, topped off 
by a cowboy hat. As plaster falls, I see the 
flesh of the fabric on the snapshot begin to 
fade, and I think about the damage something 
so simple can cause. 

In that instant, I see what intentions were, 
and what they have become. This telling 
varies widely from me to you and I take most 
of the blame for the melting of those dermal 
fibers that represent both our tears. I guess 
I’ve broken one of the chief commandments 
in my initial self-examination, 

but I felt I needed the change that would 
challenge my spirit into respecting my soul. 
Sometimes the vault of our hearts can be 
closed to the storms that bring with them 
the highest beams of light, warming us 
with their touch. Sometimes what comes 
from insult is the drive, 

forcing us to be thankful for the blessings 
initially given. I don’t have any reservations 
in saying I love you, even if that love has 
settled like little flecks of dust around the frame, 
but know that their preservation still lives 
in the rapt of the foundation, that has me 
scrambling to protect and preserve the whole