Third Farewell

[carose59]

Third Farewell:
Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear


From memory:

I can see Friday shining like a
                    miracle through the picture window:
Strange
Happy
Set free.

There was a moment of agony, 
              confusion,
                   of having something precious
                           broken from me,
then
I could walk on air.
Nothing felt like anything.
I walked out into the cool,
                      cool
bright evening, went to buy her cough drops,
went to buy myself shiny things for my hair.

Life was strange, but it was good.
The precious thing
       --was it real, or a copy of it?--
         was mine again.
Everything was fine.  Everything was good.
Spring was turning into summer turning into light & hope.
I felt singing when I walked.

The weekend was a blur of spooky music
filtered light.
What was Saturday?
A fever dream,
a wandering in & out of reality that slid slowly,

                               without notice,

 into Sunday.

Sunday was tighter, harsher.  Things happened.
By the day's end I was worn to a screaming,
                                irrational frazzle,
                    shrieking from fatigue, from
                                       frustration.
  (I don't think I slept Saturday.
  Maybe on the sofa.
  Maybe not at all.)

Sunday night was no night at all.
                 I staggered to work Monday, too tired
       to even cry.
I went home before day's end,
crawled into bed.
We held each other.
We slept.

I have no memory of the time between napping and night.
  Was there food?  Drink?  Did we laugh, even once?
   Watch a movie?  Did I say I love you?

Did she?

I remember going to bed,
 nearly eleven,
     too late again.
       Alone again.  I had to.

I had to.

I was the lifeboat & I was springing leaks.

The phone rang, late, after midnight.
  I was up, moving,
          throwing off covers,
           turning on lights.  She needed me.

I went to get her,
      helped her to the bathroom, to bed.
  No covers; she was too hot.
     (That was odd, but not unprecedented.)
  I lay against her, not holding her but just there.

When did she go?
   At some point she was sitting up,
     I remember that, but can I trust my memories?

Did she say goodbye?

If I'd held her, would--?

If I'd held her.


In the morning,

 no lights on but it was bright enough to see
she was gone.