We avoided the living grief of failed love,
like household chores delayed a day,
or more, dirty plates piling
around thoughts unsaid;
Our impending sentence,
writ by your departure,
a black hole,
a day of darkness.
Too easy to say it's too hard
to say goodbye;
even here in the afterglow
of this empty house,
wishing the goodbye had been better.
We justified that.
I left the room of this poem just then,
feeling blindly the walls and the floor,
fetching a tissue to blow my nose,
noticing nails in the walls
like the framed birthday card you kept,
just fodder for the recycling bin
and a restless night.