I never told you
it was me,
did I?
The unicorn vase
in the living room
which you received
as an engagement present
so long ago?
It wasn’t stolen
by some crypto-klepto-chum,
an addicted ally, in need of additional Adderall
or – ah, alliteration escapes me.
I broke it
– the vase –
years back.

You were in the bathroom
I think
and I was looking over this gift
from a generation past
wondering about the person you were
when receiving it.
I wondered if you were a person
I would want to know.

I was putting it back
among the plants on your windowsill
when it simply
of its own accord
just dropped
upon the ground.
The vase became
seven shards of vase, which
in a race against time
I was able to collect
between your flush
and return to the living room
where I sat
suddenly sweating
just a bit
with fragments behind me
on the couch.

In the weeks that followed
I worked to repair the parts
of unicorn heads
now severed upon seven separate
pieces.
I failed
again and again
with glue and paste and tape and
on one optimistic day
some Vaseline and spit.
Nothing worked
and the pieces
refused to be fixed.
Maybe they knew
they symbolized an engagement of obsolescence
and had little purpose left
in this strange new world.

Maybe I’m just that good
at breaking shit.
Either way
I kept the components of your former vase
and you didn’t seem to notice its absence
for months.

When you started to wonder
who took the unicorn vase
I always figured I could get it back to you
but eventually
I just stopped trying.

It’s stayed with me
this historic cracking
of your historic present.
I felt like something had been left unsaid
and wanted to offer you some clarity
as to what happened
to your memorable gift.
I’m not dying or anything
I just thought it was time
to kill off
this guilt I’ve held
for so damn long.