Saturday, at 3:37 p.m. in April/Sarah Tews

“Has your heart ever broken 
So sharply in two,
It seems like a butcher’s cleaved you 
One piece from another, split into halves?”
He asked, outside in dewy April. 

My back lay on the grass in the rain 
As I pondered what he’d asked. 
Perhaps he felt the suffering of lost love 
Or the demanding hands of time, pulling him 
Every which way until his heart cracked. 

“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”
I had felt the sting lover’s death 
I had felt the numb grip of loneliness  
I had felt the deep self-loathing of failure 
And I felt rain on my face, making me cold. 

“We should have gone inside earlier,” 
I said, blinking away raindrops like tears. 
“The storm is going to get worse.”
But we remained still, dormant --
Our picnic blanket lay soaked beneath our backs. 

Perhaps the rain would drown us into the earth 
We’d sprout back as daisies or roses 
Or thick swaths of grass peppered with dandelions
And no one would ever remember his question. 
We would be recycled, reborn without feelings. 

“Do you think it ever goes away?” he said. 
“The rain?” 
“No.” He tucked his hands behind his head. “The pain.”
I shivered. My clothes clung to me in a wet, sticky hold. 
“I suppose so,” I said. 

The picnic basket had filled with water, 
Drowning our empty wine bottle 
And soaking through the remains of crumbs. 
I twisted to look at him, eyes squinted against raindrops, and said, 
“We’re going to catch a cold.” 

He stayed splayed out on the drenched blanket, 
Two arms crossed beneath his head, and repeated, 
“I suppose so.” 
He was quiet after that, unable to share more. 
He stayed broken while I stayed cold. 

Thunder cracked in the distance,
And I knew we were so, so stupid -- 
We’d surely be washed away 
Pneumonia would clutch us in its icy fingers
And nothing would be left of us to grow into flowers. 

“We should have gone inside earlier,” I said again. 
But we still didn’t move, side by side, 
Two backs on a blanket on the grass 
With an empty picnic basket and half-empty hearts 
In the damp deluge of April. 

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