Sometime in the past…you slept free…

sleep and wake

(he was 1)

Just before he died you stopped reading me, I wonder if you stopped listening too. It was slow, and that was its beginning, to go slow, to take your time departing – I hope it is OK to ask you now, if you intend to disappear permanently?

He was a gun man – a shooter, a stay at home and order ammo from a catalog kind of guy – and quite for the last few years of his life – no one knew that he had enough fire power to take on an army of malcontents, but never his own inertia.

On Thanksgiving we sat in your bathroom smoking, you had been drinking and this loosen you enough to tell me the story of yours and his ever after; where in Idaho you two were going to move to escape the temperaments of disaster.

(you were 2)

We had been together for a little more than a year and you had never introduced me to him – something about his anger and maybe for my protection…I don’t know. Yours is a forever kind of love and you have never completely given up on trying.

You loved him for the 25 years you two were together, the 5 years after you left him and even more the 5 months it took him to die of cancer. You washed him, and absolved him, and took upon yourself the blame for his defeat.

Was it when you held him or when you cleaned him or when you remembered the way it had been between the two of you that you recalled the island where you made love and prayed that that moment would never end?

(I am 3)

Are you the woman that I cannot have, a moan, and a word about love in another mans throat? With others this was never as plainly understood by me as it has been with you – that I am a place holder for another mans love and its failure.

We unlearned how to make love, the timings and the tempos – when and when not too – the signals once discernible speak in other languages, and I can’t read you the way I once never failed too – the past has lead me to this ineptitude.

He died a few days before Christmas and you gave me a painting that had been on a wall of his apartment which I hung over my piano. Maybe a tear from its river scene will fall onto my keys and a song about his completed life will wake you.


8 responses to “Sometime in the past…you slept free…

  1. The pangs of unrequited love linger long after the notes are played, don’t they? It’s unproductive to live in the past and impossible to compete with ghosts.

    “…he had enough fire power to take on an army of malcontents, but never his own inertia.”– Perhaps the narrator suffers the same affliction? I feel so much pain in this piece.

  2. Bob – you are on the mark…at least about the pain…I am not sure about the inertia…though.

  3. I was thinking something similar, before I read the other comment, that this was painful, almost to read and didn’t flow the same way as your pieces often do, but nearly did it stumble. It walked along but every step is deliberate and costs, and the reader feels it.

  4. I found it inspiring, really, as the honesty had shone through the heartache.

  5. amuirin – It did cost, and it is lucky that I am so fortunate, and have so much love from (you were 2) this piece is a slice of life and not the a representation of the whole pie…

    musedition Thank you and thank you…I have missed your comments – you always seem to get to the center of the matter…

    peggynature – …and I thank you…

  6. how did I miss this…….yes, difficult to read because the emotion is so palpable, but very, very good.

  7. Jo – Thanks…what did the palpable Pope say to the priest?

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