Abandonment has left its mark
, clawed through the attic with hurricane force. Your chair is there, right where you left it. We were together when you bought it, that sliver of mustard you spotted beneath a pastry lid of carpets. You asked “how could someone sell this?” as if it was of sudden great importance in your life. All that hope you could never use up, now weaved into its fabric. You said "I love you" to me from it, a blanket across your legs, coffee cup snug between your hands. Letters stumbled from my mouth like a ball down a stairs. You took my "I really care about you" with a shrug and returned your attention to the chair, stroked its arms with your fingers as if hunting for clues. Outside the bells start, ten gongs that shake the timber frames. Dust free-falls to the ground, each mote a spiral in the lemon of the morning sun. I see stars and you. You, who kissed my body under a meteor shower in places I didn’t know felt. You, whose heart only knew how to be free. I sit in the tatters and tassels, feel the springs on my back. "Hello again", I say; and tell you all the things I should have said when I had the chance.