I thought I knew the way you’d leave. I read
the pamphlet, learned from watching others wane:
the shallow breaths, a last exhale, it said
before the end would come and you were gone.
I could caress your fingers one last time,
say final parting words enough to hold
the feel of fleeting warmth, your hand in mine
as you slipped away, and it grew cold.
But that was not the way you chose to go.
With cheerful chatter as the new year dawned,
you hid behind a happiness tableau
and measured out your last few breaths in song.
You would not let me wallow in farewell;
you left quickly, before my heart rebelled.
Departure by Eileen Trauth | Garden Lavender Poetry Reed Diffuser
Eileen Trauth is an award-winning poet, playwright, and author. She has published ten nonfiction books and the play iDream. Her poetry appears in Ordinary Time (Kelsay Books), in numerous print and online publications, and in several anthologies. She lives in Cincinnati, Ohio.
Her work can be viewed at www.eileentrauth.com.
