Mistakes

I see myself
Writing
At the dining room table—
I still prefer
Kitchen table talk
To what I write
In this very nice office
You made for me.

And yes, Love,
I still write
On Napkins
Or scraps of paper
Even though
You’ve given me
Lovely journals

(They scare me
With their vellum pages—
The same with
Literary journals
And publishing houses
And strangers
Knowing my name.)

I just want
To go back
To our old life—
To geraniums
And dining room tables
And driving up
The Mountain
To visit you
In your parents’ house.

You know
I hate change,
But we’ve been
Changing all along…

Still, I’m afraid,
I’m afraid
Of losing
What we’ve made
But I’d trade it all
To go back
And start all over again,
But this time
I’d do it right,
And never
Break your heart.