Promising Words

by Stephanie Kapinos

Reality is the spoken; truth is what goes unsaid.
I chew on the old gum of his promises
He spit into my mouth— words were all he had left.
That first time he promised he’d call when he got home
My eyelids fell like gavels in the silence,
But I forgave him and curled into his arms.

The only place I feel protected is in his arms,
Each fear is absorbed into his skin, though they go unsaid.
Sometimes he would make bad jokes to fill the silence,
Whenever I said goodbye he would hand me platinum promises
Hoping to see my shoes at the front door when he came home.
I often wonder what he would do if I left.

I started to tally all the promises he had left
To fulfill. I would cut marks into my arms
For the ones he broke entirely. He’d come home
To bloodied towels; my reasons, his questions –unsaid.
He’d kiss my hair and wrap me in that night’s promises,
I pulled them against me as they cut through the silence.

In the car I watched the tree tops pass in silence,
Recounted all of the possible things I forgot when we left.
Cell phone, house key, license, credit card, his promises
Not to hate me this weekend. I instinctively reached for his arm.
All three days he pretended not to think about the unsaid,
Then he couldn’t look at me anymore the second we got home.

When did we start calling his apartment home?
It was one of those changes made in silence.
Like the pink toothbrush in his bathroom, a decision unsaid.
After he added it, he never mentioned the things I left
Behind. He ran his fingers down the inside of my arms,
And made a circle out of string, slipped it on my finger, promises.

I remember all of them, the big and the small promises.
The “I’ll never leave” to the “I’ll get it on my way home”
Promises. I have to ignored them though to stay in his arms
And I welcome the talk about work and commercials to the silence,
Inane conversation sometimes seems to be all we have left,
Except for all the things that still go unsaid.

He promises forgiveness and love –these are the spoken not the unsaid
And I lay in his arms safe and terrified, trying to interpret his silence.
In order to come home I have to believe him, his words are all I have left.





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