Start Again
Every day, and in so many ways
I cried yesterday, wrapping your water glasses in those flowered cloth napkins, tucking them into a box with your forks and knives. I had to ask you which spoons were yours, so thoroughly had I believed in the tapestry we were weaving. You filled your car three times, poured the contents into your new start. It’s sunrise now, and I’m alone in my bed, noticing. The sound of the heat crinkling as it wakes up, the moan of a truck engine rumbling by. I hear my own breathing, no birds yet. I taste the funk inside my mouth. I feel gentle flannel sheets, my mattress holding the weight of my body, I feel the ache in my left hip, and cool air on my bare skin where my shoulder escaped the comforter. I feel the strong muscle of my heart. I see faint pink light in the morning sky, beyond the reaching fingers of winter branches. I see my cup of tea, half finished, because I fell asleep. I see a blank wall where your dresser stood, dust on the floor smothering a small gold hoop, yours. I see my hands writing meaning into grief. I see possibility. Tomorrow, I’ll sweep, I’ll paint.



So moving Reet. A great strong piece….
Rita,
I'm sad reading your latest.
Sorry for your loss.
Len