Adieu, Jorellie

                                                                                                                                   Collage by Guillermo Altre, Jr.


And this shall be my last goodbye.


Do not leave your door— even your windows,

The leaks in your ceiling open for my voice

Seal your heart for if I come to return to your hands

The pieces of my heart wrapped in your shirt

I shall think of you—the you who loved me—

Now someone distant

Someone as cold as the floodwater that soaks my feet

As I pound on your door when I am again

Homeless in the torrential rains; lost in my longing

And if I come to you like this

Looking for the warmth of your arms

And the embers in your eyes that fired my heart

And many times burned down your untidy room,

Lock your doors and seal your windows

As if my arrival is comparable to thieves of pastries and wines

Of sneaky felines that raid the food on your table

Or the landlady coming to get her rent


And if I arrive at the gate of your house

Seeing from your window the bulbs unlit,

Your doors closed and a salivating dog collared to the doorknob,

I shall know, that the couch would feel terrible

Of receiving my weight

That the spoons and forks would be in disgust

Of my mouth

And your bedroom would flip me out of the windows

If I come without your consent


I shall know by then and it is only the right thing to know

That your heart like mine had bid,




The coldest and longest


The most prolonged of all farewells






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