The holiday comes

like junk mail addressed

to a previous tennant.

Though the intended recipient

hasn’t lived here in years,

I almost give in.

 

I want to tear it open

in hopes of finding

what I already know

it won’t hold.

There will be no admission of guilt.

No truth or apology

folded at the seams.

 

No:

What I did was wrong.

You didn’t make it up.

You didn’t deserve it.

You were just a kid.

I was a monster.

I would take it back if I could.

 

I leave it sealed

and toss it out.

Monday is trash day. 

.