Draft of a poem found in a drawer
His speaking of an unexpected coming true
is what puts me in mind
of that winter on the coast,
holed up in a closed hotel
where you were camping out,
with the job of just minding the place.
Maybe we did discover something there
in that high-ceilinged room,
that accidental moment,
with friends occupied with gossip and wine
and us slipping off to smoke
overlooking the wave-striated harbour.
Or maybe we simply agreed
to pool our resources
under a not-quite-threatening sky.
Either way, now, in our kitchen,
sorting recyclable debris,
I’m telling you stories
of her yearnings, his betrayals,
the impulsive gestures
of their love affair, reminders
of what we flirted with ourselves.