Everything is in two suitcases
I leave nothing but bitterness
And a smorgasbord of garbage:
Old clothes, used toothbrushes
Empty canisters, assorted papers
Receipts, a small bottle of olive oil
Yes, even the sharp memories
The beautiful, the acrimonious
And the variegated scandens vine
I pruned from its mother spreading
Its foliage in a big corner claypot
I put it in that light sky blue vase
Bought on discount from Tesco
That vine barricaded my sanity
When it was desperate to escape
From the matrix of my solitude
I did not put the English channel
The snow-capped mountains
And the one hour gap between us
She felt I deserted her anyway
I was a usual presence, a habit
The vine traveled to her room
My surrogate- a warm presence
She put it back to my window sill
The moment she touched my hair
Again. Was that a Friday in winter?
Soon the gentle cleaning old man
Will discover the vine orphaned
I was told he will put it in a curve
At the edge of the swimming pool
Where it will grow longer, longer
Like live strands of memories
Snaking their way through time
Until they lingeringly grow too long
That no one - perhaps not even we
Will remember how they began/ cld
