darling,
you left me in a brittle
tea-cookie state of mind, but
i watched you crumble, three nights ago
under dawn’s umbral shroud
you left for work
sisyphus of deadlines and late-night takeout
a constant shadow under your eyes
like fabric soft lavender
nebulas–
i waltz in a housewife’s theater
for a small audience:
the cat and the mice and the
lone smiling jack-o-lantern,
my own little fairytale
panopticon.
cold coffee mugs go sour
on the half-set dining table
and i’m taking notes on a crumbled grocery list
darling,
in the hallway’s vacuum of sound
i think about the space between chaos and nyx
how we tucked our heads beneath the gossamer night
laughter twinkling, lights i knew
were already dead (or perhaps
currently dying)
whispered hymns of a promised future
still brush against my ear and our faces were inches apart
once.
had i known
looking back gave you permission to go
i would’ve let the sun blind me,
instead of knitting eyelashes against
blustering doubts– you haunt like
threadbare linens lost in october winds–
i would’ve sailed through the kitchen with a mop
against the banks of siren and styx–
i would’ve,
just to know you’d be home in time for dinner.
darling,
eclipse season cycles through us
banging in the silence with the echo of
your left sneaker tossed in
the laundry drum
when the planets collide it will be
with that same cacophony
burning up retinas until every
lightbulb and lovers’ spat
is snuffed by your shadowy orbit
i hopelessly imagine a sliver of silver rings
not yet swallowed by kitchen sinks;
but when the skies shatter
the moon has already died
and in the coldness before the big bang
a piece of me broke off
catapulted down and burned up before
it could even break ground
meteors without abandon
can only go so far
p.s.
at the altar,
i already knew.
our stardust rots just as
all midnight pumpkins do.