I knew it wouldn’t be over
not all over
until all things were returned
to their places,
and as I waited for you
I always waited for you
to give back the books I lent you
and concocted schemes in the shower to get them
back on their shelves,
to regain, to reclaim, every part of me that belonged
however temporarily
to you
under the spray of 8 a.m. water, the epiphany,
the summary, the symbol:
it ends as it began, as it ever was;
the books yet another offering
you accepted
but would not give back
Kristie Cunningham: Poetry 