You became a voice enveloped in gentleness,
Without a body, slightly touched by your own
Memory that is more my own now, kept alive
By my acts of feeding the thought of you, the
Rest stops of love and commemoration, you appear
In songs and scents, food and quotes.
The room, emptied of you, full of your objects,
I looked at them and they broke my heart,
Your absence then and there, your hair was still
On your pillow, on your blanket (it smelled of you),
On your mattress, that held your body, holy to me,
To my own, the sensation of your touch, my muscle
Memory.
The room robbed of life. There were plants.
Your care rested in the room. What belonged to
Your heart, what had been left of it. Everything
You abandoned, in death, left behind, from your
Soul into our hands. I put you on a pedestal, what
Remains of you. You touched them. You linger.
Every day I erect you anew, I know you’re free.
I put your objects down and didn’t touch them for a few
Days. I didn’t want you to think that you had to stay so close.
I looked at them. I felt you. I slowly released you from my
Obsession, I let love sink in attached to what has been and will
Be once you found your peace and you did, the heaviness faded
Away and you could go with him, to the gardens that you loved,
I would love you wherever you were and upon reaching
Your lands I held the objects close to my chest and wished you well.
Croque-Melpomene 