While I Read Your Goodbye Letter

I'll break bread

And eat it messily

While the crumbs

Crumble over

The thick, wooden table

That you wanted to buy

I'll leave the lights off

Except for candles

And see if I can finish

A bottle of wine

I'll stack up books I want to read

And write a list of the friends

I need to phone

I'll make other lists too

Bigger, better lists

Of things

I've been meaning

To want

To do

I'll do dishes

And vacuum

And clean up the bathroom

And hang up old photos

While others come down

I'll unsubscribe to magazines

And change the answering machine message

Then throw the answering machine out

Nobody has them anymore, anyway

I'll buy fancy pens

And plan to pen a retort

But it'll end up being much shorter

Than I'd like it to be

So often we think we need a novel

When a haiku will do

You are gone now, huh?

Well isn't that great for you?

And so what about me?

What a sad little poem

And yet...

I'll put down the paper

I'll pick up the keys

I'll pass by your picture on the fridge

On my way out the door

Another thing to remove

To take down, to erase

I'll go out somewhere

And feel like this is a beginning

And not an end

When really, it feels like I'm in the middle

When you're too invested in the book to quit

But too bored to continue

And so you stare at the page

And wonder, what now?

What should I do now?

I'll...

I'll...

I'll think of all these things

I'll think of doing them

And other things

Big things, important things

All while I read

And eat the bread

And drink the wine

While I read your goodbye letter

And cry, and try

And try not to cry

And trying may be all I do

While I read

It's all I've done

For such a long time

I'm not sure I know how to do
Much else