On The Fence

There was a fence between us.

Not the kind meant to keep people apart.

The kind that tells you

where one garden ends

and another begins.

The posts were there from the start,

but the wire hung loose.

I stepped over it.

Then through it.

Then I stopped seeing it at all.

You would pull it back into place,

gently.

I would apologize,

and let myself forget where it stood.

I told myself I wanted you to be firmer.

More certain of your edges.

But I had grown comfortable

in the space your softness made.

I wanted the fence.

I wanted to want the fence.

I mistook your giving for permission.

Until one day,

you rebuilt it.

Straight.

Certain.

Impossible to mistake.

Standing on the other side,

for the first time in so long,

I saw the shape of your garden again.

How much tending it had needed.

What had been growing there

while I was occupied with my own garden.

I understood

the fence was never keeping me out.

It was protecting

something beautiful.