Words for the end

There must be words for the end,

She thought

In the form of a song

Or a poem,

Maybe a text

For when

She’d moulded him

Her malleable, raggedy poppet,

Shaped him into her own image

A reflection of herself,

Before she’d realised

She loathed her reflection

When she looked in the mirror

 

Words for goodbye

For the end

For

I don’t want

You

Anymore

 

And was this the end?

Or a selfish lull

A pissed off pause

Because she felt like it

Because the weather is wild and

Grey in February

Because when you’re cold

Hurting warms you

Because

Just because

 

And then she thought

Of the bed

Without him

Its cold pillow

Its narrow frame

The smug pattern

On the quilt

 

And she spoke in clichés

To herself

We’re in it for the long haul

Always together

Forever and ever

And she saw in the words

The truth that led

To old love

To deep love

 

To the poet’s words

In a text on his death bed

To his wife of forty eight years,

“Do not be afraid.”