Postscript

There isn’t much to say
About the way
You faded out of view.



P.S.:
Thinking of you hurt too much
So I duct taped my thoughts shut,
Left them in a dark cellar,
Locked the door and lost the key.

But time and truth have conspired against me
They broke down the door
Removed the tape
And set my mind free.

And though you might not remember me
As a dandelion or The Queen of France
Or the destination you traveled to
By monkey bars made of stars, I remember

Watching through the peephole
As you struggled to leave my dorm room.
Staring back at me through the wood plank barrier
Punctuated with a heavy sigh
Before heading down the stairs. I remember

When you only had three tattoos.
The first was a symbol from the iChing
The second was a stencil you designed.
The third was a 2x4 on your knee
Because though you’re not superstitious,
Knocking on wood was a tradition that tied you to your father
A man you so fiercely admired. I remember

Your hands,
always perfectly warm with
Love permeating through your palms.
And though they do not taunt me
Your words still linger in the air, saying

“I’ve been trying to place it for a couple hours,
And I really can’t think of the right word
To describe how happy you make me.
Mirth?
But more than that too.”



P.S.:
The irony is not lost on me
That I am continuing your legacy
In writing love poems about a time
When you and I were ‘we.’
I can’t compete with yours
But I hope the sentiment still counts for something.
I remember

When you wanted
to lace my fingers with lavender and mint.
When you made tees and jeans feel like ball gowns
When I called the space between your arms ‘home’
And it was the most beautiful home I’d ever seen.

I don’t want to end my last tomorrow
Without you knowing this:

You are someone I wish I deserved.



P.S.:
I can’t quite figure it out
How to put into words what I’m feeling.
What’s the opposite of mirth?
But more than that too.