by Sarah Little
Promises ain’t what they
used to be.
Remember them, deeper and more entrenched
in where they were made,
crystal glasses perched on the edge of a
(What if there’s a storm? Do you have
a contingency plan in place?)
I made several and kept few;
you made many and kept them
to the best of your ability.
We can’t even talk now, because
this situation forbids it, predicts it,
demands it. I promise I’ll break all
my promises, break my
promise-making habit, if you’d just give me
(I should know this already, though,
should already know how this works.
second fifteenth chance waiting
for me now)
I break all the promises I made to you,
even though you’re not here to know it now,
and recount all the ones you made to me.
You never keep them all, then, never have a
proportion of made to kept that’s even.
(but god it felt good to have you want me)
Sarah Little | @writeonepurl2 | writeonepurltwo blog
Sarah is a poet-storyteller. When she isn’t conjuring new tales or adding to her to-create list she blogs, knits (or crochets), and sometimes goes looking for shenanigans. Her work has appeared in Minute Magazine, Bye Bye Nite, and L’Éphémère Review, among others. She self-published her second poetry chapbook, Not Your Masterpiece, in January 2018.