The Package

I listen to us saying goodbye
without taking off my coat.
Your voice breaks.

No need to say it again and again.
I come home and hunt for brown paper, scissors, glue,
if i work fast nothing will be lost.

Not the way you held my face
perhaps turning it to the light,
a precious stone you had to value.

Not the weight of your hands
upon me
their restraint natural as gravity.

The package will be sealed
so light can’t touch it,
safe on the dressing table in the bedroom.

Then we will have said goodbye
and I will have said, look,
it is not destroyed.

If you don’t believe me
I will post it to you.

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