Married on a Sunday, divorced on a Tuesday. Another date to file away, as we adjust to our new normal. I wrote this poem quite a while back, but quickly after posting shoved it back to the “private” files. I’m not sure why. Too personal maybe, or maybe too fresh. The sentiment holds true. Divorce is a separation, a division of lives, but it can’t erase love, or time, or family.
Cat on the Sill (11/28/14)
That cat is on the window sill
He’s an orange shorthair
But he used to be
Before we adopted him.
I agreed to take him in because
You always wanted an orange cat
Just like in that movie.
In the glass of the window
I see your reflection:
You are hunched over
Your drawing table
Your chin resting on your arm.
I can’t see what you’re drawing
I’m just focused on your face.
You don’t know I’m watching;
I’m standing quietly on the top of the stairs
Thinking back through our years together.
Flipping through memories
Like a card catalog.
It’s your last night being 34
And 16 of those you’ve shared with me.
No matter what happens
I will always love the slight upturn of your nose
Your pink lips
The way you love me without question
And want us to work
Even when I dish out the worst
Even when I don’t know what I want
Even when I just want to crawl into a hole and die a slow death
Or just kick up the bolus and let my crippled pancreas do the rest
Do the world a favor