Slates

As a new decade dawns,
I scrub these slates clean
or as clean as they’ll get,
stubborn stains clinging cruel;

I have to be gentle,
so as not to break them
but I refuse to discard them
like some heartless fool.

Our slate is most difficult
because I somberly find
traces of you in
hard-to-reach places

The notes of a song;
the hues of a screen;
in countless facets
I am haunted by faces

The face that lit up
when I said “I love you”
the one that twisted
when I didn’t agree

The one that bore guilt,
because I was your captive
that you hated to love
but refused to set free.

I am keeping our slate
not for the sentiment
or because I have hope
that we’ll have our day

I keep it so next time
I’m offered less than I deserve
I can pull it out, remember,
and file it away.