Anniversary

I’m not sure I have learned my lessons;

the ache has not lessened but expanded.

Your absence takes up so much room -

A year – you are not camping.

I know- I remember that whispering hospital;

urging you back, and at times you did.

But you couldn’t stay. And so I lied to you.

            I said I would be okay.

Promised. You could go.

And I’m not. Even now

I feel like one on life support.

“Just get through the day. Just get through”

but at night the sound of you doesn’t breathe

And I lay there, waiting for them to start again.

Pretend you’re just gone camping.

The money is gone; I have not learned to budget.

Food is often take-out; still do not have the habit of cooking.

My phone reminds me to put out the trash can,

Pay the bills, buy groceries. I cling to it.

And at night – I have not learned to sleep

Without the breath of your sound.

Ariel

Nov 30, 2011