Suzanne Hancock - leaving to a billie holiday soundtrack

Good Morning Heartache

He slips on her flannel nightgown. Not because he wants to, although it is soft and warm, but because
she has taken everything else. This blue and white striped one was her least favourite and she kept it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. She must have forgotten to look there. He wonders what she will do with a whole drawer of his socks as he crawls into an old sleeping bag on the blow-up mattress with a slow leak. He falls asleep with the moon through a curtain-less window and an airy whistle like a long sustained sigh.

Our Love is Here to Stay

Before he took that business trip to Georgia. Before he lacked the endurance for their evening walks near the river. Before he suddenly became interested in foreign films and wine. Before the shirts he once wore became too stayed, too old. Before he bought a tooth-whitening kit. Before he stopped saying let's rent a John Wayne movie and make a bowl of popcorn, he called her baby and touched her dimpled shoulders with his lips each morning.

What a Night, What a Moon, What a Girl

To their wedding she wore a long white dress with fitted sleeves and a lace back. Satin shoes. The church was small but full and the reception hall smelled of floor polish and beef. His father drank too much vodka and danced with all the girls, who eventually took to hiding in the bathroom. Before the speeches began her new husband lifted her snowy gown and entered her from behind in the utility closet. Later, she cried in the hotel room because her Grandmother hadn't lived long enough and because there was a red wine stain in the shape of a tear drop above her left nipple.

Forget if You Can

There is a new leather couch in the living room, vertical blinds in the den. Beige bathroom towels. A tall pine bookshelf. The one day he comes home and thinks: she will never be her again. No one's on vacation. She isn't at a class. The stillness stitches his lips closed until he feels he will burst he is on fire.

When your Lover has Gone

She rented a storage unit then flew to Philadelphia. In his warm house her brother says he can't believe it, though she knows he can. She cries at the kitchen table because she is tired of crying. He makes two mugs of sweet coffee in silence.

Day in, Day out

A surprisingly good day. She notes that it is Thursday and it has just started snowing. The flakes float on the air like hummingbirds. Her arm is extended out to its fullest and in her hand is a camera. She snaps the shot of herself against her new yellow wall just as the water boils. The steam from the kettle sounds like a long deep sigh.

Willow Weep for Me

Author's Note: For each section In the above poem I've used titles of songs sung by Billie Holiday