“December,” someday, you’ll hear me say, “you’re small. Someday you’ll not dwell here, at all.”
“Flameless light, unconvincing tinsel — your legacy-less, grey-sky stare no longer rejects me.”
Expect me, someday, December, to say, “Gaze you, into some placid pool, reflecting — see now what I see when I see you.”
Icy heart, frozen love, ticking clock — your time winds down…down…down
Three, Two, One…you found out I found you out….
See yourself out
“I’m as May, you’re September, December.”
It will disappoint you to find, today I have nothing to say to you
Except that I am healing
And I’ve hung a do not disturb sign on my heart, so to that end, beside my bedside — a candle that smells like the sun
But too, our beach and the suntan lotion I smoothed onto your skin well over a year ago
Well into the midnight hour, it burned, and I felt like the irresponsible teen-aged girl I was when we met
Good timing, for today is to be an unseasonably warm December day
Without a coat, I’ll work out the difficult feelings while out in the yard, raking one last time before the snow flies
When the last of those magnolia leaves fall later this coming week, I won’t give a damn
I’ll be busy recalling the days when you cared to caution me to please drive safely in the snow
You didn’t want to lose me to accident or injury — you’ve forgotten that, but I forgive you
Silently in my head, I pray these days for your safety too, knowing you never thought much of my prayers
Or my help
Or my written and spoken and demonstrated sentiment
Or my too-small home, where I tried to keep us well
And Christmas is coming
And you won’t be here
And I may mail you a gift and a card, because, after all, I love you more today than I did yesterday, or the day before
My gift and my card would convey this, plus give you one last opportunity before year’s end to ignore again my olive branch
I’m looking forward to the coming decade, despite that it’s looking like I won’t know you then
About your birthdays, I’ll still celebrate them
I woke up at 2am to tell you, I have nothing left to tell you that I’ve not been sure to have already said
A wordgirl gone reluctantly silent with you
Accept that I am healing
Mystery, you are.
Full of and drunk from alike.
I hold the spy glass.