The Day She Left

It was a lazy Sunday morning and I was still in bed when I heard her get up. The bed sang a goodbye as she stood up. I heard her stretch and yawn and then walk away. Her bare feet made a bare-feety sound on the floor. Pat, pat, pat, pat, she went over to the terrace door and opened it.

Then I heard a flutter, like a whole lot of pigeons. I sat up to look, but she was gone. Flown out of the window like my mother.

Next time I saw her, she was at a Starbucks with her personal trainer. I frowned because it was so unpoetic of her. So vulgar. To just be here in the world with the rest of us when I thought her to be an angelic creature. Shame. On her, I believe.

Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk