Three Times Lost

for brendan.

One, two, three times.
You said you had never been in love,
faking your way through every grimace
that naivety might call a smile.
One, two, three times.
I watched as you married and divorced
twice before you turned thirty,
pretending to drown your sorrow in
one, two, three beers. 
The emptiness of your refrigerator
mirrored how you felt inside. 
I could see the pain in your eyes
every time I looked at you.
One, two, three years passed.
I waited in a chair by the window,
hoping you would show up to Christmas dinner.
I opened the door to a stranger as you walked in with
one, two, three steps.
You pulled me into a hug I should have recognized,
but it felt as awkward and confused
as the months since you last called.
I notice the
one, two, three glasses of wine
you sweep off the table with a flick of your wrist
before turning to answer my silent questions.

"You were always my favorite niece."

You ask for my forgiveness.
I thought of
one, two, three responses:

I am your cousin.
I won't forgive you.
Why don't you know how to love anymore?

One, two, three chances.
I try to tell you the truth.
I try to tell you what you've done to me.
But instead,
laughter roles out of my mouth like
one, two, three rubber balls
that bounce away meaninglessly. 
Or maybe,
we just chose not to catch them.