Tag Archives: grief

every single thing was as it had been

when I pulled into the driveway

I could already feel you.

 

you followed me

to the front step,

always the same bossy musk

that kept me standing

when I got too starry-eyed

in the city.

 

I slipped the key

into our lock

and paused,

I pressed both palms

against the door

and felt for your heartbeat.

 

when I stepped inside

I walked the path to our kitchen

in the dark

 

every single thing was as it had been.

 

I turned on the light

your grocery list waved hello

from the refrigerator.

 

I put a peace sign

to each temple

and breathed in deep,

some unexpected sweetness.

 

there wasn’t a card

this was your way

 

we’d never used words

to explain the synchronicity

of our bodies.

 

I moved to the coffee table

you must have placed them there

expecting me home

 

the petals were as wrinkled

as my blouse,

the dozen hung their heads

like silent grievers.

 

I sat down

and grieved with them.

 ***

This is my take on today’s Daily Prompt:

You return home to discover a huge flower bouquet waiting for you, no card attached. Who is it from — and why did they send it to you?

 

11 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized, Writing