This Is How They Leave You

Its the spaghetti 

sauce you

threw all

over the wall.

The Gardenia

bloom that 

wrapped me

up in motherly

guidance. 

The escalator

with the 

white ceilings 

that allowed you

to fly away. 

Christmas 

wrap waving

to me in the 

wind as your

jeep 

crossed over the

mountain.

A Pool stick 

that never wanted

to make it to 30.

The Rolling Stones

singing in my

ears as I cried 

in the hot August 

sun. 

Bare feet on 

a hot wooden 

deck warning

me of the end. 

Parchment heart burn

signing over

our replacements.

Sitting on a cold

floor holding

the fur of 

the sweetest pup

and letting the tears

send your 

heart to

next. 

This is how 

they leave you,

but you

survive.