I have all these goodbyes,
like Christmas and birthday presents
I never gave, because I never did.
I keep them in the dark corner
of my heart’s closet, where I can
ignore them because I have so much
more life tossed in there on the floor,
like old shoes, each bearing
the scuffs of miles and miles
and the dirt and dust
of all the roads I’ve walked,
run and U-turned to get here.
I never gave you these goodbyes
because I wasn’t around when you left me.
Or maybe I just stood there
when you did, but wasn’t present.
And isn’t that word ironic?
When I leave, which I shall
one way or another, I don’t
want either of us to end up
with the clutter of misspent,
misplaced memory taking up
the corners of your heart or mine.
Here’s your goodbye, my dear ones.
Go ahead, open it.
I made it just for you.
Poem #4 in my Poem-a-Day NaPoWriMo effort.