letter

the last time I was sitting near this river was two days after you came home to get your things. Six months ago. When my sadness became a large suitcase I lug around like you carried boxes of socks and DVDs from our home. Sitting by this river in the dawn of spring I see choices mistakes,missteps, misspokens. I am slipping this sadness gently into this river like launching a canoe. I watch it disappear floating onto the horizon where the great blue heron will come nest in the summer, she will pick up this bag and fly it away. Ten months have passed since the Niagara river leapt over the falls. You fooled us all here and maybe even those on your side of the big river -the Mighty. It must have been easier for you to set your sadness afloat down the river. Pieces in my luggage folded like shirts and skirts; the spot on your chest where my head would rest, long emails, your whispers, our bed. Reasons you left me crumpled and tucked shamefully in the bottom corner of the bag; cheese knives and your daily lies. Chess games and bleeding mistimed. Your big mighty river probably swept your sadness away a long time ago. I have set the sadness to sail along the gunpowder river. I am sure it just whispered to me that it didn't know if I would make it through the winter like a misplanted bulb in the fall unable to take root or bloom when the earth spins toward spring. It has sailed away and I will not wilt.