RUSSELL ROWLAND ___________________________ Apology You teased crocuses out of the soil, beguiled goldfinches back to sing at our window that it was finally spring— but my heart strayed ahead to fireworks, sparklers, and sunscreen’s frankincense. I am sorry for my faithlessness. You rubbed sunscreen on my shoulder-blades, arranged for the lake to be as blue as sky, donned a bikini unsuited to your modesty— yet I opted to give myself to autumn: pumpkins, sheaves of corn, swamp maples going pyrotechnic. Forgive me please. You cut jack-o-lanterns, raked brittle leaves, dressed children up as heroes and royalty for Halloween, gave me the leftover candy, carried the harvest home. I snuck around with a Flexible Flier, wore mittens sleeping, text-messaged Santa. I fled your weeping. You learned to ski, installed snow tires, bought carrots and coal for the man of snow, decked the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la. I left you—wandered glades, seeking tentative hints of green. I listened for the early bird. I was that mean.
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