Had I Anything To Tell You

Had I anything to tell you,
in those lost days back in school -
doing wheelies,
dragging bumpers,
riding cardboard
over ice --

I should have told you,
at the pond
in the field of Oklahoma,
I was too young,
and hadn't a clue
who I was,
outside my spirit and my heart.

I was a waitress in some college bar
where jocks and drunks flew through windows,
and somebody was stabbed one night in '75.

Even old memories have flavors.
Jelly touches the tongue.

Had I anything to tell you
as I waxed and waned in indecision
of my life's direction -
I could have mentioned
that I lived
through other people's lives;
watching
as they hurtled through
infatuation,
love and fractured vows
only youth can claim.

I'd never had a blueprint,
in a life that seemed to wander;
and my soul circled endlessly
through corridors of books.
down rows and rows
of thousands of numbers
in a library,
where knowledge
was a letter on a floor in a room
and a syllabus was guidance
for the journey.
And I copied
and wrote and hid
and wondered
what should I do;
and I retreated to a space
of not knowing.

You knew better than I
what age would do to our chances.

Had I anything to tell you,
I guess I really should have said,
I was happy that you loved me,
and sad that our troubles
were such distractions,
and that it was NOT a waste
what we attempted.

But I was the young one,
and my senses were illusions,
and the damage was too deep
and scattered to repair.