You who never arrived in my arms,
beloved, simply missed the train, again.
I believe instead that it was something
I said, or did, or did not do, or should have
thought about if I had been smarter.
But you say your old rusted piece
of shit car just finally died and you
were running late as usual—I am
only one of the most recent thousand
things that capture your attention—
but not for long. So, at this moment
and from this moment to the next
that lives within it, I pledge to forgive
myself from responsibility—
not you, not yet, but myself.
There will be no further thought,
self-recrimination, or rehearsal
of guilt as I re-live the misery
of that train chuffing into the station,
beloved, and you not arriving in my arms.
After “You Who Never Arrived” by Rainer Maria Rilke
Kali Lightfoot lives in Salem, MA. Her poems have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies, been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and won Honorable Mention from the Science Fiction Poetry Association. Kali has written reviews of poetry for Bookslut, Broadsided Press, and Solstice.
