He just wanted to sit quietly. enjoy his drink and read silently. Beneath his desk lamp, he read.
And she interrupted and said:
“The moon is so beautiful it hurts that I can only stare at it before bed”.
Made no sense in his head.
The memory of her has been long gone and dead. Grateful for it too. An uneven match that couldn’t end too soon.
Now in his old age, as his wife lays in the other room. He sat with his book and drink outside...
Underneath the moon.
I sleep in his clothes.
A simple way to keep his scent close.
While sleeping, I heard him yell “I love you!”
My lips formed a smile before my eye lids could move.
An unfamiliar voice on speaker phone replied back “I love you too”.
... I woke up to find myself beneath six feet of dirt.
Buried me while I was still wearing his shirt.
Watching someone let go of you.
Loosening their grip, and losing you.
Feeling there fingers slide across you.
Waiting until it’s just their nail beds...
Then the cuticles.
Down to finger tips.
To the nail ends.
Space. Departure. Absence.
And then it’s just you.
Missing their presence.
Unbalanced from the missing weight
Knees weaken as you deflate.
Dropping like an unhooked chain
Crawling on the floor in pain
But know you will learn to walk again.
I Don’t Answer My Phone.
Facebook Messenger Notifications.
Traditional Text Messages.
I have unsolicited Weather updates, Weather Warnings, Amber Alerts, Amber Alert Updates, World News Updates, Local New Updates, Software Updates.
These days, I’m pretty up-to-date.
But I’ll read the voicemail transcript....
Just Incase you had something new to say.
You before me, and me after her, whose before him and after her and them before him and him and her and her…
It actually hurts to put myself first. It’s a spot I’ve never held, so I guess I’m not compelled to rebel.
So you can find me in the back, way back, past the coat rack, beyond the black, across that dirt track. The last act.Holding back.. could just turn my back and suddenly be first….
I’m still working on that.