Marriage

I draped myself in you
like a blanket from my youth.
You covered me from head to toe;
every part of me included you.

Then you left,
and I had nothing
except the face of a stranger in the mirror.
When I laughed, I didn't recognise the sound.
When I joked,
when I cried,
when I learned how to get up out of bed again,
I couldn't feel you with me.
You were gone.

And I was pained.

I learned the stranger's name.
I fell in love with her laugh and her jokes.
I held her when she cried.
I welcomed the morning with her.
And even though,
sometimes,
I feel your memory try to come to me,
I still want to thank you
for helping me find the best relationship of my life.

I am happy.

My Old Bedroom

My father
wiped my childhood from the walls
with two layers of paint.
Scraped away the layers of my evolution
from girl to woman,
and the myriad of events that took me there.

I didn't weep.
I never mourned the loss
of moments, faces, events that shaped me.

My old bedroom,
and all the memories it contained,
is gone,
and I am left with this self-doubt.
Why aren't I more sad?
Why don't I miss those candid snaps
and old Birthday cards?

My father wiped my childhood from the walls,
and I wiped it from my memory.