Did I tell you
how much I didn’t wish to let you go
this morning —
when you woke up, slipped into trousers,
wore an un-ironed cotton shirt,
a sweater, woollen cap,
put on lip balm,
opened the door
to step away
and waved me goodbye?
I thought I would lose you,
wouldn’t see you again.
But you will be back
in the evening as yesterday.
I will be happy again, as yesterday.
The trifle house
will be intact.
It’s clear and I see now:
my mother was not a feeble woman —
But father left her to go to work every day.
The empty house haunted her.
Her potted plants — what a sham — no replacement for a lover —
Yet, nothing besides their silent chatter could keep
that anxious woman calm.
Have I told you, perhaps I haven’t —
I don’t dislike you for this new misery,
normalcy, this is.
I adore you in more ways
than I thought possible.
For it’s a tale of an ordinary day,
while we turn
into two bland, bouncing boats;
inflicting sadness
upon each other with words
untold, to extract longevity.
And we brace each other
for unrequited love.
