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Post-it Note (again)
Contributed by
Calista
on
Monday, 21st June 2004 @ 11:06:27 PM in AEST
Topic:
Grief
|
Post-It Note
June 20, 2004
I woke up late,
The sun in my eyes.
I knew you were gone,
But imagined otherwise.
Today was a work-day,
You'd left hours ago.
But the warmth still remained,
On your soft white pillow.
From the bed I did a rolling crawl,
Woke myself some,
And walked down the hall.
In the kitchen I saw that the light was on,
The coffee was made,
And the curtains were drawn.
I smiled to think of you,
Thinking of me.
I took the steaming cup,
In hopes it would wake me up,
Towards the living room, through the foyer.
I saw something small, maybe nothing at all,
Stuck to the big oval mirror.
Amused, I approached to read what you wrote,
For me on a yellow post-it note.
"Didn't want to wake you,
I'll be home early.
Happy birthday, baby,
I love you, Me"
I dressed and drove off,
To pick up some things.
I counted down the hours,
To hear the doorbell ring.
Like last year, and the year before,
I knew you would be there,
Promptly standing at the door.
You'd ask to come in,
While I put the flowers away.
You'll thank me for the date,
And I'll thank you for the boquet.
My husband who loves me,
And acts out our first date,
To see you standing there fancied,
I simply can't wait.
Back at home I straightened up,
Placed candles around.
I put on nice music,
And listened to the sound.
I knew you were home now,
I could hear your footsteps.
I checked my hair,
And glanced down at my best dress.
The chime sang out as I neared the door,
I could hear my heels,
Clicking on the floor.
I threw the door open to see your face,
And smiled with love at your mistaken place.
You didn't stand there, my darling love.
In the doorway was someone nothing like you,
A man I knew nothing of.
"Hello, is there something you need?"
I thought it was a cable outage,
Or a new neighbor here to greet.
He asked me my name, twice, to make sure,
Honey, where are you? What's this man doing here?
His eyes were heavy, he looked down at his shoes,
"Ma'am, I'm afraid I have some bad news."
My knees must have given,
I think I cried out.
Why is he here?
What is he talking about?
"Your husband, Ma'am...
He was killed today..."
I thought I heard this big man say.
It can't be true, I know it can't.
My husband will be here,
To take me to dance.
On my birthday I was told,
Of the horrible crash.
How my husband was killed,
And the fire left only ash.
When the officer left and I was finally alone,
I sank on the floor beside the phone.
I know you're okay, honey
I know you will call.
You'll tell me this isn't true,
It didn't happen at all.
You'll say "Sorry, I'm late,
I had a last minute gift to buy."
You'll say "Baby, don't worry,
Here, don't cry."
And you'll hold me and whisper,
"I'll never leave your side."
It was hours ago that I waited for you,
And now the stars are bright.
The flowers are wilting I bought this morning,
And the music long ago stopped playing.
My baby, my one...
Has gone down with the sun.
So here I am lying,
In the bed we shared,
Wondering how I will live in this place,
Where everywhere I go I see your face.
Asleep in my tears,
I woke up to my fears.
Yes, it really is true.
I know you are gone,
But imagine otherwise,
Today you were killed,
You left me long ago...
When I reach out for you,
Something lies on your pillow...
"Didn't want to wake you,
I'll be home early.
Happy birthday, baby,
I love you, Me"
Copyright ©
Calista
... [
2004-06-21 23:06:27]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Post-it Note (again)
(User Rating: 1 )
by StoneAngel on
Monday, 21st June 2004 @ 11:54:33 PM AEST
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Info | Send
a Message)
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| I loved this poem. first 2 verses discribes how I want my new relationship to be like. Just wish it didn't end so sadly. Beautiful Poem. Great Job. |
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Re: Post-it Note (again)
(User Rating: 1 )
by EternitysLyre on
Tuesday, 22nd June 2004 @ 12:07:55 AM AEST
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a Message)
|
Your rhythm falters all too much, and the poem itself, in this modern day and age, slides just a tad too long.
The emotion in this poem is so thick you couldn't cut through it with a knife. The sentimental stampede quite neatly tramples any originality, and appreciation. Severakl descriptions, if not novel, did prove pleasing, though, and I'd suggest you put either more effort into rhyme and rhythm, or more effort into poignance, precision, and brevity. |
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