Poems I am not allowed to read

...on a hot Saturday afternoon in July.

But so hard not to. For they are Japanese. And very short

I cannot ask you
when, exactly, you plan to leave.
Surely, when you go,
like a single drop of dew,
I will vanish from the world.

--Anonymous

Now the nights grow cold
and cold winds return to howl.
With you gone,
my whole life is torn by winds.
I wonder: Do you sleep alone?

--Anonymous

How long before the missing leaves me? How many more Saturdays: walk into the living room, stop short, a cry ripped from the guts? Hands gripping sofa-back. Because otherwise you might just tip. Over.

It's Carole King who did it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to make it home again... A CD from friend Maxine. Songs for a busted heart. It's so far and out of sight...

Don't tell me this isn't a death. Don't tell me this hurts less.

He was here. He is gone. I cannot have him back. And whether he was good for me or not: irrelevant.

I will rage until the bitter melts. I will cry until there's no more wet.

And I will love again.

Only now. I cannot yet imagine.

My beautiful Boy.

Comments

[Lynn]

don't you just hate it when people try to offer comfort by saying "he was no good for you," as if that makes it feel any better? in situations like this, pragmatism is like a nail in the kneecap...or something. So, no sad poetry... more than once a week

[Lilan]

He he, once a week? Okay think I can live with that! :-)

[Julie @ the calm before the stork]

Did I say this when we talked? It is a death because it's the loss of what might have been, the imagined. So we grieve.

I love you.

[Lilan]

Thanks, my love.