Stormrider
Steve Hatfield
 
For a moment on the morning
I wake up a widower,
You’re in the kitchen,
Getting coffee going. 
My brain and blood cry
For their ritual cups,
But if I get up,
You need to be pulled
Memory by memory
From the dresser
And closet, separated
Hanger by hanger
From your donable clothes,
And what’s left
Loaded into trash bags;
Your necklaces and boxes of shoes
Must be coffined up,
Your toothbrush and lip gloss,
The fragrances you touched
To your neck on the nights
We line danced.
Sunlight shoves around the blinds
Into our bedroom
As if eager to watch me
Do as I promised
And clear you away.
But I can’t do it.
Not today.