unhanging

i do i do

i look up:

say in my head, "i wish you'd come home"

though i know it was me watching you, waving goodbye in a foreign land.

i walked through here one day early in november. it had that feel of french poplar trees which drop their leaves in fast running water -- we shed our autumnal ashes this new year -- and the trees, i sighed for here we go again [is it maybe?] one last time ; 

it breaks my 

heart -- i say, "i'm still --

"you always, always are -- 

i want to feel your soft sides, my soporific sighs to soothe us again. Remember: you lit a fire and the cider bottle exploded under the sink -- Remember: how sore i was and i squeezed my eyes shut in the pillows, we still had that virgin vertigo, i didn't know what to do, my body was still so new, and clumsy in the love that covered us --  

and i look at the flowers that are blue as i will be for you, always, (it was love

that did this to us                       it's not a question of --

it's not that you don't) but years peel away petals that i am not ready to part with yet

                           in love. 

                             (will we ever have a baby?

i curled around us and there was my mother cycling through the back lanes seeing sisters tumbling in the playground under mulberry trees.

we lost our home; the glass bowls of fruit that we collected scattered in sugar and ate with smiling mouths

(21st june 2019, edited october 2019, edited again april 2020)

a/n: it's so strange reading this again, i don't remember who i was then.