If you were still here you
might say today: let’s scrape
the mold out of the shower
and fill it with fresh grout,
dig up those weeds next to
the back porch where the sun
shines full and grows up
everything unnecessary.
I’d say: let’s linger in bed,
let weeds sprout, let mold
spawn black and pungent
as earth. Let the sea of
dreams roll back over me.
But you’re ever restless,
you'd get up and start coffee:
you have to concentrate,
make it right. Write a to-do
list standing in the kitchen.
You could fix anything but this.
You’d come back and stand over
me, reproach and tease me
to do something, anything
-- useful. I do things:
I see.
I see the sun pushing
through the bottom
of the rolled shade,
agitating like you.
I see you finishing
everything up first,
ready set go.
Even not knowing,
you couldn’t go away
without leaving anything
and everything undone.

CC 2007 Sharon Mollerus