I saved the important stuff;
the scarf-blanket you knit me
before your fingers quit working,
your favorite book with its
w o r n p a g e s
f a d e d w o r d s.
I saved your smile and the way your
lips look when you say my name.
I filed them away with good
intentions, missed opportunities,
and wishes, and placed everything
in a jar, to keep for a rainy day
like the ones you used to love
(like the me you used to love).
But the way your skin felt floats
away on the wind,
like your words
of farewell on the last day I saw you.
I can't remember the shape of
your face, the angle of your lips,
the p r e c i s e way you wouldn't let
go of your
I can't quite recall
the timbre of your laugh, or
the squirm that accompanied
your response to a flat instrument,
it's killing me softly,
at a time.