Page 208 - Dark Matter Women Witnessing

Leaving me in a chronic state of wanting-to-know and not-knowing. Even when you

stayed right there on the chair in my office. Your chair. Now here again you've left,

wandering deep into a night of your own where I can't follow. Leaving me wanting and

not-knowing. How much mystery you held in your tiny body!

You, mon errante, my sweet wandering girl. These terms of endearment I've never used

with any woman. I never knew any holding back with you. From the first I knew how to

give you pleasure. When to touch you, and when to stop. How to hold you. When you

had fleas I bathed you, I knew how, I clasped your forelegs firmly, without hesitation, I

dunked you, I held you there. You protested, you tried to wriggle free, but you never bit

or clawed. You trusted me by then. When we went away together, you let me place you

in your box, you sat there and submitted as I lowered the lid over your head. Only

afterwards, once we were in the car you beside me on the passenger seat, did you start

your moaning.

Why am I writing to you, about you? I never could write about the women I've loved and

lost. Not without feeling underhanded. Not without my own story getting in the way. I'm

not afraid to be found out with you. Nothing feels tainted. With you I was never

ashamed. My hair could look any old way.

Why am I writing about you? Because I want to reach you. Because I want to put you to

rest, in me, without sealing over. To heal, without moving on.

Where are you now? Everywhere I look I see your absence. A dullness to the chairs,

the rugs, the floorboards, the plants. The bloom is off. Deprived of your appreciation, of

your endless consideration. Lovelorn without you. What am I without you. Like the trees

in the park with their limbs lopped off.