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A man, remembering his dead wife, wonders how she's gone when she's alive in his memories. |
Her face, distant in my mind, Shrouded by the clouds of time, Though her laugh still rings fresh In my ears. Her palms, smooth, Moist, I feel caressing my cheeks In my sleep. Then I awake with damp Eyes and bury my face in my pillow Until the spastic sobs nurse me Into a troubled sleep, a deep and troubled Sleep. I walked down the now dark halls That were once filled by the mirth Of her laughter. What joyous days Were those! With shoulders light And hair that blew carefree in the breeze We danced to the steady beating rhythm Of our love. With a heavy heart and measured hand I poured over the colorful photos of our past. You loved the color blue, all shades of it, And you always wore it on you. I see your vibrance juxtaposed against The tall greens of the grassy plains We used to walk by, the white snow When we would ski in the mountains, The black of night around a camp fire. Oh, how I miss those days, those easy, Carefree days when our hair would blow Wildly with the breeze. We were whole, you and I, Joined at the hip as the old men On the bench in the park would say As we passed by. Sometimes on foggy nights I imagine I see You, your slim, elegant shape whirling In the mist. Or maybe on a sunny morning There is your smile in the clouds above. I smile back. Then there are the nights that I wonder, What would have happened if you hadn’t Driven that evening? What if you had stayed, Waited out the storm by the fireplace While we sipped hot cocoa and curled Our bodies into each other on the smooth Fabric of the sofa. I run my hand over it, Smelling your decadent fragrance. I writhe In my sadness, held in tandem forever In the grips of our love that has been snipped Away in a single, detached moment of intense, Dire pain. I remember the long hours I paced Across the tile floor, ripping at my hair, Dialing my parents, your mother, the police, All to no avail. It was true. You really were gone. Then, I roamed through the rooms we’d spend A lazy afternoon together, or in the kitchen Where we experimented with the waffle iron Or counted the ways we could make each other Breakfast in bed on those slow mornings that seemed To last forever. It was all gone. You were gone. At your funeral I gazed down the rows of pews, expecting To see your graceful smile on one of the still faces Around me, but you were not there. All that is left of what we were are the blues In the picture frames, the lonely memories, Your hastily scribbled letters when you had To leave in the morning before I woke up. I never thought those days would end, Those long, lazy, carefree days. I visited your grave once. The stones Were silent, the trees decorating the yard Were still. I couldn’t bear it. I never believed That several feet beneath where I stood Was your tomb, your cold body. It couldn’t be. You, who was so full of life. How can you be dead, when you are still so alive, Fully fleshed from head to toe, from your laughs To your tears to the memories we shared, all So alive inside of me? |