that day.

i keep thinking about that day
and how we didn’t speak at all.
i imagine it’s because you had nothing to say to me –
the one that hurt you.

so, i listened to you banter with your friend
and to the chief’s game in the background
and to the old air conditioner that was loud enough
to drown out my sobbing.

by the end of it all, i was covered in dust
and i was crying
and gus was whining
because of the thunder and wind
outside.

i wanted to pretend he was whining because
he’d miss me
or because he wonders where i’ve gone
and why mommy doesn’t love him anymore.
but i know he was just scared
of the world outside that he didn’t understand.

i’m scared, too – you know.
and my yellow umbrella wasn’t enough to keep me dry
as i walked away for the last time .

i wanted to hug you
and to tell you how sorry i am
and to try to explain better than i have.
i wanted to talk about mistakes
and life
and about how your running was going.

but now i’m in this big, unknown world
halfway huddled beneath my red blanket
spooning the place where gus used to lay.
and i can't stop wondering when this storm is going to blow over
so that i can feel the son’s light on my face.