An End

I am packing you up in boxes,
our meeting and recollections,
explorations and deviations,
every sorrow and triumph,
our relationship flat-lined like this museum and its exhibits;
I am always tearing down my lives when they have ended.

When Ar— left me, the last stage set we shared was the first I took screw gun and hammer to,
tore the windows from flats and nails from their mooring and still I missed her as hands made busy work to keep from rubbing at my eyes, watery from weeping,
and I find this now again,
the day after Am—– and I made resolute
that we are separate and sadness rolls over
and here I am packing away the place that first ever brought us together.

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One response to “An End

  1. So vivid and sad. Healing to you, Mick…

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