On Unpredictability

by Jill Chan

Where is he now, the boy who said,

“You're so unpredictable.”

And I was just a girl

content with sitting,

with the way the evening falls

predictably as all others remain.

I wonder what kindnesses

he brings to his family

by being steadfast

as he was with me—

looking shy though he was never

shy with others, the predictable others.

All that have changed in me,

I give to you now.

The night has wavered with me

as if solemn at last,

marveling at how wrong

we could be when we love

or admire and are forgiven,

because we love,

we eventually love

as never before.