Four
months gone
or maybe more
still
she hears
a closing door
thinks
it’s him
walking the floor
but
all is empty
space and time
no
kisses fond
or words sublime
footsteps
are but
creak and groan
she
lies here
listening all alone
footsteps
on the
roof top rafter
found
in type
the morning after
once
a wife
no regrets sold
she
doesn’t know
the story told
kitten
paws heed
no man’s barriers
make
the perfect
love note carriers
This is a true story. Today while cleaning and organizing my art studio, I found a bag with old notes from my husband in it. Included was this message found typed out on my computer a few months after he died. The kittens loved to walk over the keys and I had heard Talulah or Annie do so the night before. What came out was gobbledygook with “once a wife no regrets sold.” typed out in the middle of it. For nineteen years, I’ve been trying to figure out what the “sold” was about unless it was that we’d put our house up for sale and bought one in Mexico three weeks before my husband died. This message was received as I lay on the floor on an inflatable mattress in the bedroom of the house we would have shared in Mexico. Nope. No regrets, ever, concerning the move to Mexico, but it took me 8 years to stop feeling married.
This is Annie about 16 years later, perhaps remembering her one successful message on those keys she walked over so many times in the 19 years she shared here with me. She was just a kitten in the time period this poem describes.
The day 10 prompt for NaPoWriMo is to write a haynaku. Six word stanzas with lines of 1, then 2, then 3 words.