She used to leave small gifts
all through my life - more
than once a cd by a band
I didn't know turned up
in my car, set to the perfect
track, or I might find a book,
a novel next to the bed, poetry
dog-eared on the back of the
john, once a thoughtful photo
saved on the desktop where
I couldn't miss it. I pictured
her placing each one, smiling
to herself the way she did
when I wasn't looking, slyly,
her eyes far away, as if she alone
knew the punchline. I never
said a word of acknowledgment,
except in time to begin adding
my own secret offerings. In this
way we grew alike, speaking
wordlessly by these bare synapses,
and while they held, the dark
was a little less,
the space closer.
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Comments
Well done.
--
You make the sound of pulling heaven down...
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