I put you to the back of my mind,
not because I don't care,
but as the grieving mother-of-two
places her own mother's
garments into the attic:
none of you
has left me,
I promise.
It's just that I do not fit.

It would be too painful
to throw you away.

So now you stand
as a measure to dust and distance;
as a measure for every woman
who calls me by my name.
We walked together
on lonely mid-night crawls,
the pillow-talk in my empty sheets;
you were the stalwart companion
in all of miy dreams.

The miracle in the chicken shop,
the sanctum on the screen.

I put you to the back of mind
so that I could focus on
what is in front of me.
None of you
has left me,
I promise.
My hands blister
from holding onto you,

but it would be too painful
to throw you away.