I do not remember you as others do.
By entries past in monogrammed diaries
Or symbols, marks and numbers scored
On the calendar hanging aback the kitchen door.
I do not remember you as I should, some might say.
With framed photographs, or disciplined candles
Well worn toasts over warming wine
Or the recalling of your name to fill the time.
No, it is in the aching passage of the day –
The place setting foolishly laid, and the waiting bed
With white sheets tucked and made –
That I remember you.
You made extraordinary.
Now emptied and made solitary.
But time will pass and it will be you that remembers me.
In the sun’s rays falling on my shoulders
Or the rain tapping at my window.
You will find me
And your memory will warm me
In the harshest climes.
I am sure of that
For we never did love each other as others do.