Divorce

I actually didn’t miss too much about you
after the truth came out.
The week after it ended I cleaned
and found the things you left behind:

my tank top in the middle of the floor-
a black puddle where you threw it,
a beer bottle full of urine,
a bible with a bookmark on forgiveness,
a spider web in the window sill,
your teeth in the carpet.

I told myself
that I should have cleaned this place sooner.
It had been disgusting in here.

And I didn’t care what you sought
in city parks at midnight,
whispering to suspicious looking characters,
“Dealing?”

I didn’t blame you for finding a woman
on a street corner
when she asked,
“Are you looking for somebody?”

I didn’t hate you for what you did
in the front seat of your car
in a seat I thought had been reserved for me.

I miss you when I can’t think about these things anymore.
When I wake up in the night from a dream that you were in
and every detail I forgot.

I reach out beyond consciousness
unconsciousness
subconsciousness
beyond right and wrong
trying to remember
how I would wake
in the night
while you were sleeping.
You would be holding my hand,
fingers twisted like a dug up rooted riddle.
I am a bottomless well.
I still reach to hear I love you
in the silence.