Anti-Climax

The end, I thought once, should come

With emotion, as it sometimes does:

Either quietly, the tense reserve of the raindrop

About to land, or echoing instead the thundering

Bombast above—fat dark angry clouds fast evaporating—

There is always something, the build, climax, dropping off

(“Resolution” they used to call it, but we know

Better);

Once I had spent enough time studying plot,

To be revolted by the austerity, grace, life

Uses to end it all—all, the ugly morning kisses,

Foot to head reading on a couch, waking

Too early, hands on each other, all that—

After carefully boiling it down to words, promises, furrowed emptiness.

All this, that was sticky in the throes of emotion,

That life smoothed with tender fingers, the

Great parent prying away a toy with

Honey words.

The end, now here, is unnecessary,

Having squatted for months between us,

The toad that, finally, has shed its warts, curling

Up into a vast tree, branches licking our faces

On each side, firm enough to say “no more.”

Written 2003 (?)