The Morning I Changed the Linens

When she came back, my organs

were still draped with white sheets,

like the tables and chairs and sofas

of the wealthy on vacation. I lay

dormant – my head on the pillow

watching the crucifix on the wall

to see if it moved of its own accord.

She didn’t call out in greeting;

it was the crack of fabric as she

shook the dust from the sheets

that told me she’d returned.

 

Sighing deeply the deadened air,

I walked into dust dancing in the sun,

and she sat in the midst of it all –

a goddess of light with legs crossed

and eyes and lips flashing a smile.

Swallowing the flying dust, I stood

unmoving, unwilling to approach.

The white sheets lay crumpled in

a corner where she’d discarded them

with disgust – what use are they

when the mistress has returned?

 

At least, so she thought, I imagine.

And thus she sat, content, smiling,

looking over my unkempt hair

and haggard look the way an artist

looks over a piece that didn’t quite

work out. I stood silent long enough

for the dust to settle, and I saw the

crucifix now hung in this room.

She tapped the place beside her

on the sofa, blue eyes thirsting for

my presence, and I stepped to her.

 

Her chest swelled with lovelust

until I passed her into the corner

where I picked up the white sheets.

She saw my intent and held my wrist.

I closed my eyes as if in pain. Gently

putting aside her hand, I covered

the furniture in white, my lips taut.

My world once again lying hidden,

I saw her to the door. “I am not yours.”

The Night the Power Went Out

She spun the gold band and diamond around her ring finger,

watching it as if the words she sought were in the jewel.

I tapped my foot and extinguished a candle as the last

of the wax dripped onto the envelope she’d just given me –

the envelope from her fiancé, letting me know.

Finally letting me know that she’d never be mine.

“You know”, she said, looking up, “I’d have left him for you

and it could have been your ring, not his, on my finger.”

I placed a new candle in the melted wax of the old

and let it grow cold, and harden. I didn’t respond.

“If only you’d have asked me to, I’d have been yours.”

Lighting the new candle, I heard a gasp behind me,

where she was. Turning, I saw the tears, each like diamonds

identical to the one he gave her. “Why didn’t you ask?”

I swallowed the diamonds in my throat, put the candle down

between us and lit it, lighting the face I’d loved for years.

I could never trust a girl who’d leave one man for another,

and I told her so, and I saw her to the door and said,

“I could never trust you.” She left, and I lit candles.