to plant my legs deeply
onto a stump of dead tree
which lets me see
no more than an extra foot of sky
than I already can.
I had a sudden urge
to take that plaque
The one you shaped
that I've tried to hold back
And hammer it
abandon it
to that cemetery of trees
And let you be.
Let the rain begin to stain it
let the rust begin to frame it
let it finally breathe the oxygen
that you were denied
because keeping it at my bedside
won't stop this from turning to dust
eventually
and I think I need to let you go
a little more
because keeping you tucked
up inside my kitchen drawer
after sobbing on the living room floor
doesn't ever really close the door of a heart
or open a window
or let anything in, fresh
and I miss the breeze.
I remind myself
that doors can always be reopened, if only slightly
and old tree stumps can be revisited, and quite rightly
and conversations can always ensue at 6am
after dreaming of you
But I need to lay you down
a little more, now
while the future remains so unsure
and, while my heart remains unsecured
Laying you to rest
in my head
in my chest
is like taking apart a garden
and picking each flower
to be pressed
gently
between the sheets of my favourite books
between the pages of the story
of Us
