Prayer Flags


I don’t recall the very last day.
In fact perhaps the last day was the very first day,
And I do remember that.

I keep mulling it over-
That jacket you wore and those big wet brown cow eyes.

The in between is spotted with landmarks,
Firsts for the both of us-
And lasts.

Nothing lasts.

I whispered that line to myself as I wrote it,
And a yellow leaf fell from the maple,
It is summer.
Where the hell did that come from?

The fall?

Since that last day I sway between heartbreak and song;
I don’t smell your sweat in the bed.
And I do no not miss it.

The innocent breath of a tiny person who looks very much like you has replaced the rumbles of your apnea.

Still I find myself on the edge.

The razors edge perhaps.

I no longer shed tears in front of the children;
Yet-
At mid morning,
When the light is just right on the same country road that leads to the nanny-
My heart sinks and my eyes flood.

Then.
I go about my day.

I took the prayer flags down that I hung on one of those spotty in between days with you.
Before they were completely worn out;
So those prayers remain-
Unanswered.

I hung a new bright colored line,
Lower,
Like my expectation.

The fact that they are my single prayer and not yours cheers me,
They sway in summer balm-
Next to the banana plant you killed three times.

It’s growing again you know-
No one believed me but I knew I could help it to rise again-
Next to the new prayers.

I don’t flinch because you do not live here.
I do not feel like dust in a corner-
I cleaned the corners,
And everyone breathes better.

I wake to the breath of the baby and the bird song and send those prayers out and up;
Praying for a new first day,
To last.

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