When you told me I was naked on our bed
tired, exposed, in a word,
vunerable.
In my sickness, with tears silently flowing,
I pulled up the bed sheet,
covering the heart and body you were rejecting,
covering my grief,
putting a barrier between me and you.
Shielding myself from your words so that they might
not penetrate, not sink into my soul, but be bounced off
reflected by the bed sheet.
I still sleep in those sheets, on that bed,
cocooned in a new life
without you.
No comments:
Post a Comment