EMPTY SLIPPERS.
I know one day I will have to
move them
but for now they can sit
where they are,
on your side of the bed.
Im not ready to move on, to
talk about you
in the past tense,
to smooth out your
indentation in the bed,
like some ruffled memory best
forgotten.
They can sit on the floor, as
if your feet were
about to slip into them again
and dance across the floor
making me laugh the way you
always did.
Yes, they are not in the way.
Not now its only me, sitting
here,
in the window, where you told
me I would catch cold,
until you slipped your arms
around me.
If I close my eyes, you can
slip them round now,
I know youre here somewhere,
in a parallel world,
waiting and watching,
probably making the angels smile,
while everyone tip toes round
me, whispering about grief
and time, what do they know?
Know about us, you and me?
It was special, wasnt it?
So special, I know youre
here,
as the shadows flicker across
the wall,
stretching like spiders and
eagles wings,
crawling higher and higher,
tip toeing across
the ceiling where we counted
clouds and sheep
and anything else in our
conspiring minds,
making reasons to stay awake
and hold hands.
Sleep beckons me now,
as I roll into bed, not
touching your half,
for fear of cancelling your
shape,
they dont know it of course,
but they dont know lots,
all they see is the tears
washing off my face,
and the empty slippers.