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Como Conservatory, St. Paul, Winter
Neil Hilborn
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Como Conservatory, St Paul, Winter
Today we are in the Sunken
Garden. We have come here because
outside of this greenhouse it is cold
and dry and the nosebleeds
are beginning, but you have come here
because I asked you to. We watch
as a family winds its slow parade
around the fountain. These girls
are climbing onto and jumping from
everything. These girls are indestructible.
I am thinking about what our children
would look like but when you ask
what I am thinking I tell you nosebleeds.
You tell me about your ex-boyfriend's
brother's wedding, three years ago
in the very spot where we sit, and this
seems wildly appropriate given both
that we will definitely not be married now
and that, in moments after you had fallen
asleep on my chest, those endless, nightly
moments in which I imagined our wedding, it was
always here, in this spot, this fucking spot where now
we sit and I want to kiss you now, but I do not
tell you because it is no longer
surprising or sad. You are getting up
to leave and maybe if I sit here
long enough, here in this place I have
seen in dreams, in dreams from which
I barely wake even when I am awake, dreams
of waiting, of "I do," of waiting for god to appear
and touch both of us and say I Am Here, here
long enough you will appear down the aisle, white,
white dress, your father beside you, flowers
in hand.
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