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A.M. I woke up this morning tucked tightly into my
bed
just as I was when I fell asleep.
There was a light rain tapping on the window
and the soft talk of the news
murmuring on the radio.
I suppose it is these mornings that make
living alone more livable.
I am under my covers
and it is cold outside
but I can keep warm
all by myself.
For two years I shared a bed with
someone who I called my furnace.
He would get so hot,
all of our sheets were discolored
on one side from his sweat.
I have new sheets now,
they have kept their color.
I get up and go into the kitchen that is just mine,
and I pour honey into my hot cup of tea.
Happy
I stumbled up to the karaoke stage, loud and clear.
The audience is uncomfortable.
The Carpenters. Superstar.
My friends mouth to each other.
Should we take her home?
I called him from the bar.
You don’t want me anymore.
Is that why you called me?
He sounded busy.
He didn’t agree with me.
But I knew.
I lit a cigarette and got smoke in my eye.
Some one put a coat around me,
me in my birthday dress and tiara,
and put me in the car.
Our Song
We never had “our song”
but we did have our nest.
That nest was shrunk down,
down to who got to keep what records,
books,
the one nice pan,
the vacuum cleaner.
Who gets the painting we went it on
fifty-fifty,
the coffee maker,
our best wine glasses.
I wanted to keep you bringing me fresh coffee in bed,
and you could have me making you dinner every night,
and I could keep reading to you and painting you pictures,
if I can have you waking me up in the morning whispering
that I am beautiful.
I would keep cutting your hair,
and you could have me to hold while you sleep.
But we gave all those things away.
Thrift stores, yard sales.
Whatever is left, I don’t want.
I don’t want anything that doesn’t belong to us.
You can keep it all.
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