SQUATTER
(for M.C.)
With a tentative hug, they said goodbye
He sauntered, backpack embracing him
She ran, ineffable sorrow enveloping her
No rearward squint; anguish must not tarry
The moon turned crescent, full, half, quarter
Once, twice, a million times. She lost count
In another world, another life claimed her
Spring disembarked from the snow. But her
Ring is still cold like ice in the mantelpiece
Obdurate in its defiance of the wrathful fire
In a big space in her heart, he abides…still
Like a squatter on someone else’s property
In her mind she sees again and yet again
His easy form in front of an old computer
Smoking stick after stick of Sampoerna
Punching the keyboard, he bedecks her
With warm silky descriptions of his love
As if carried by a soft whisper in the dark
Did they not say goodbye then? But what
Is goodbye? Is it not the pain on hindsight
That never goes? Oh, goodbye is a word
That deceives even the tongue that says it
Like a man suffering from a ghastly curse
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