Memory

Her face, distant in my mind,
Shrouded by the clouds of time,
Though her laugh still rings fresh
In my ears.  Her palms, smooth,
Moist, I feel caressing my cheeks
In my sleep.  Then I awake with damp
Eyes and bury my face in my pillow
Until the spastic sobs nurse me
Into a troubled sleep, a deep and troubled
Sleep.

I walked down the now dark halls
That were once filled by the mirth
Of her laughter.  What joyous days
Were those!  With shoulders light
And hair that blew carefree in the breeze
We danced to the steady beating rhythm
Of our love.
With a heavy heart and measured hand
I poured over the colorful photos of our past.
You loved the color blue, all shades of it,
And you always wore it on you.
I see your vibrance juxtaposed against
The tall greens of the grassy plains
We used to walk by, the white snow
When we would ski in the mountains,
The black of night around a camp fire.

Oh, how I miss those days, those easy,
Carefree days when our hair would blow
Wildly with the breeze.
We were whole, you and I,
Joined at the hip as the old men
On the bench in the park would say
As we passed by.

Sometimes on foggy nights I imagine I see
You, your slim, elegant shape whirling
In the mist.  Or maybe on a sunny morning
There is your smile in the clouds above.
I smile back.

Then there are the nights that I wonder,
What would have happened if you hadn’t
Driven that evening?  What if you had stayed,
Waited out the storm by the fireplace
While we sipped hot cocoa and curled
Our bodies into each other on the smooth
Fabric of the sofa.  I run my hand over it,
Smelling your decadent fragrance.  I writhe
In my sadness, held in tandem forever
In the grips of our love that has been snipped
Away in a single, detached moment of intense,
Dire pain. 

I remember the long hours I paced
Across the tile floor, ripping at my hair,
Dialing my parents, your mother, the police,
All to no avail.  It was true. You really were gone.
Then, I roamed through the rooms we’d spend
A lazy afternoon together, or in the kitchen
Where we experimented with the waffle iron
Or counted the ways we could make each other
Breakfast in bed on those slow mornings that seemed
To last forever.  It was all gone.  You were gone.
At your funeral I gazed down the rows of pews, expecting
To see your graceful smile on one of the still faces
Around me, but you were not there.

All that is left of what we were are the blues
In the picture frames, the lonely memories,
Your hastily scribbled letters when you had
To leave in the morning before I woke up.
I never thought those days would end,
Those long, lazy, carefree days.

I visited your grave once.  The stones
Were silent, the trees decorating the yard
Were still.  I couldn’t bear it.  I never believed
That several feet beneath where I stood
Was your tomb, your cold body.  It couldn’t be.
You, who was so full of life.
How can you be dead, when you are still so alive,
Fully fleshed from head to toe, from your laughs
To your tears to the memories we shared, all
So alive inside of me?