I listen but do not watch
as you prepare to leave,
the closing of a cupboard door
a cymbal clatter to my ears;
resisting every note of goodbye –
shoes over socks, sighs
and the scratching of a key in the door –
holding on to the ‘I love you’s
whispered into my collarbone.
Hands clasped tightly in my lap,
reimagining the shawl of hope
and daydream you drew tightly
about my shoulders;
fingers palms arms of fabric,
when you vowed to keep me,
always.
