inchworm.

“I have a riddle for you,” you said, and I smiled,
twisting my hair in my fingers.
“good. I like riddles.”
“if there’s a worm,” you said, “stuck at the bottom of a thirty-foot well,
and every day he climbs two feet up and
every night he slides one foot down – ”
“he gets out of the well on the twenty-ninth day,” I said.
“I know that one.
now:
I have one for you.”
you sat back a little and your lips twitched.
“okay,” you said, hesitantly.
“if there’s this relationship,” I said,
“stuck in a huge rut,
and every day it takes one step forward and
three steps back,
when does it reach the point that I can trust you again?”