Tonight,
I sleep with a cadaver.
My
husband, the denier, as the CLL
strengthened
by long term COVID
consumes
him, pound by pound.
Your
wedding band,
indestructible
titanium and carbon,
surface
marred and scarred
sand
blasted, acrylic chipped,
ungloved
victim of some abandoned project
lies
in the dirt, flung from fingers
shrunk,
shriveled, from
hands
once full and strong, thick with muscle,
now
trembling.
Even
the swiftly shipped replacement
two
sizes down
spins
freely with each movement.
I
slide the pristine ring
onto
my left pointer finger
so
close to mine
so
far from mine.
It
knows this is not its place.
I
move it to my other hand
settle
it on my right ring finger
My
flesh seizes it.
I
can fight no more,
knees
crumple and I
rest
my head on your chair.
It
is cold.
I
light candles, adding one
Confused
by the array
Who
are they all? Who do I remember?
Who
still lives in the life after life
as
they are remembered by me?
Does
my confusion erase them?
Does
it erase me?
Who
am I if I am not?
So
many doors locked behind me
abandoned
homes
sad
dreams
distorted
memories
overwriting
some truth
that
no one knows any more.
I
feel your hands take mine
I
see you, and so many more
waiting
for me in the forever
home
that will be a home
I
drop the key down the sewer grate
and
walk into your embrace.
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