Two winters ago

Two winters ago
it was morning
and I awoke
to foreshadowing.
to a dark sky
quiet
birdless
and the rain drumming
thick on the roof.

I woke
aching for the warmth
you'd offered
while sleeping the night before.

and even then
in the warmth of your arms
you were so cold
and I knew
things were changing.

I pulled on the big robe
sadly
remembering when we'd
laughed inside of it
together

the fogged window
leaked drippy ink
from the dreary clouds
a lazy watercolor painting from the sky
I sighed.

expensive wooden floorboards
creaked loudly
under
heavy pacing.
I stopped
to listen and heard
silence
echoing from the
wood beneath me.

bravely, I decided
to enter the kitchen
I knew you'd be sitting
carelessly in flannel
reading something
heartbreaking
in the paper

nothing
could have prepared me
for you
in a suit

fighting tears I asked
how you slept and
maybe you'd like some coffee?

you raised your cup to show
that you were
self sufficient
this morning

silently
we sat
you nibbling a grapefruit
as I nibbled a fingernail

I watched you eat the
bitter fruit
and noticed you
not once purse your lips

is this it?
I almost asked.
it seemed just the other day
we were getting wallpaper
for this room.

I think then
I only needed a
change of perspective
which is one thing
you never ceased to provide.

your silence
was all the answer I needed
and quieter than you slipped into my life,
you slipped out.

two winters ago
it was morning
and though you couldn't see it,
the sun rose
behind the clouds.