A Part Of You

A Part Of You

 

 

I picked up your robe today

How many times had I said to you

Throw that thing away.

But you refused to

Said it suited you fine.

I looked at all the holes burned in

From cigarettes, the nap worn,

The hem uneven, but you were stubborn.

Many times I started

To throw it out anyway

Not believing you couldn’t part with anything so tacky.

I guess I wanted to be rid of the robe and you,

Your hateful words, your ugly moods.

But looking at it today it seems

A symbol of our final years,

Its quality faded like our dreams,

The hem as uneven as your temperament

The spots – all the bitter tears

Shed during interminable arguments.

You’re gone now.

I sorted your clothes

Boxing them for the Good Will

Jackets, shirts, ties – all

Will be worn by faceless people.

Your robe?

I held it close to me

Wishing we could retrace our years

Knowing this was not to be,

Too late for us – too soon for tears

I hung your robe back in the closet.

—Margie Keane—