Underneath my heart is the quiet moment
when he asked me what's really wrong,
the time after my mother has left for work
and he offers to sit down and talk
while I hide my unsteady voice
between gulps of seltzer and spoonfuls of lucky charms.
Underneath that is his I'm sorry
for not saying I love you every night,
an apology for allowing a little girl to run up the stairs
to burrow herself in a cocoon of sheets
in order to synthesize a hug.
Underneath that is my inability to hate him for even a moment.
I love the beginning of this poem (Did you eat the Lucky Charms with the seltzer?) and the somewhat universal truth of the gap that often arises between love and the language to express it.
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