I arrange
your clothes on the bed like I always do,
In three
different sizes small, medium, and large,
Before I put
them in the closet. I separate
The whites
from the blues and the formal
From the
casual clothes. You used to like this
Order amidst
your chaos, this known form
Of countries.
You were afraid of the unknown
Monsters in
your closet. The Bogeyman you would say,
I held your
hand and opened the closet, as you closed
Your eyes I
showed you your green sweater. I was
Your God
then. I created your universe and made
Your world. I
showed you that light can shine in
Darkness. But
you, you don't need me like this anymore.
You seek out
unknown skin of countries, mesmerized
By the light
of an island of spirits. You don't need me
To hold your
hand. You doubt as plants do in winter looking
For the sun
in the ice's cold fingers when I
Answer your
questions.
You are
content with distance.
Separation.
Maybe somehow
I can still hold you in these
Details of
folded clothes and matched colors.
Perhaps this
form and certainty can draw me closer to you
But even
these clothes don't fit you anymore.
I am slowly
losing you, the clothes are messed and dirtied.
I hear
footsteps walking towards me, I see
You are here
with your newness. Somehow I
Recognize you
even in your strange ways
Because you
are a part of me whether you liked it or not.
You bend down and reach
for my hand as I used to,
We pick up
the messy and dirty clothes. We store it
In a box. We
clean out the closet where I used to perform
These rituals
of folding and matching. This new form and emptiness
May be an
ending or perhaps just a new beginning.
