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10

from four by fo(u)r hands

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Matthew.

It’s only fair that I be the one to send you this entreaty.
Would you believe I actually spent a quarter of an hour hunched over an actual thesaurus, trying to find a word that didn’t sound so dated and desperate as “entreaty”?

I did.

Three months ago, you sent me a letter. You begged me for a chance to reconnect. You begged me to write you back.

This is the letter I should have sent you then.

I don’t care if it makes me weak.

I don’t care if it makes you look strong.

Everyone will say that I am betraying my cause. A strong woman should not bow and scrape to someone like you.

They can live their lives the way they want.

I don’t believe in reincarnation.

I don’t believe in second chances.

When we die, we rot in the ground. The soul, such as it is, rots with us.

We get one go-round, and I’m sick of waiting for you to get home.

Let’s spend what little time we have left together.

You make me weak, but you make me strong, I think so, anyway,

I was wrong to push you away, and claim that I loved someone more than you.

The fact is, I don’t want to do this anymore. Not without you.

You make weakness feel like a virtue. I’ll always hate you for that, I suppose. But I really don’t care anymore.

I’ll wait as long as it takes. Finish your work, in that cold northern place.

Finish, and then come home to me. I’ll keep the fires burning, even in summer.

We sound wrong together, in a chorus of other voices. But when it is us, and us alone, it’s right.

I’m tired of doubting myself. That doubt is what makes me feel weak. You make me strong. You hold me up, and I’m sorry for saying that you were what made me feel broken.

It’s so cold here, and you must be even colder, alone in the wilderness.

It’s not too late, is it?

You will get this, won’t you?

Come home, Matthew. You asked me to come to you. I would, but I know you’re homeward bound. You must be. It’s time for this city and this woman to welcome you home, so be home. Be home now.

We owe each other apologies. We aim to hurt, when we hurt.

Let’s try again. This time, I think we can succeed.

There’s something I should have told you sooner, an added incentive to make our reunion a certain, permanent joy. I can’t wait to see the look on your face, when you see me again. A change for the better, I think.

-Anna

credits

from four, released March 11, 2014
Music - Tory Miller
Words - from "Ten Winter Letters" by Tucker Cummings

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fo(u)r hands Dover, New Hampshire

Tory Miller and Andrew Cote get together sometimes to record improvised piano albums.

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