This is Part 3 of the three part poem. Catch up with parts one and two before you read part three.
Banished—looking back at memories—
rainy Sundays, afternoons-turned-night,
your twisting, dancing body illuminated—
candles from a bedside table—and a rhythmic
squirming—a desire to stay hidden from the world—
But here we are—opposite ends of accepted.
As the verdict fell like ash from burned
pages, I thought I would wait—perched
high on a hill under the tree outside town—for you.
Being here, though, is different. Now—
outside looking in—I know I can’t wait. So
into this tree, I begin to cut gently.
With a knife, I carve your name—but not for
burning. On this hill, I create a monument—
the unburned curves of your word,
a simple tribute. And with your name, another—
mine—displayed here for everyone and no one
to know the truth—I loved you—enough