Why I Stopped Reading the Newspaper

I
haven’t written you in years
Since you eased the barrel
from my lips.
In passing, I’d promised
Monthly letters to showcase
Our travel plans and
To tell you I was alive.
I am, but I’m not sure
I was then.

You were warm to me,
like spring, or melted better
Reminding me of my mother’s cooking.
I kept you in
Stacked cases and storage containers,
Sealed places built to hold on to
Things not meant to last.

I read the other day that
You had followed my footsteps
a little too closely,
Successfully kissing
Round metal barrels and flirting
with steel. You always thought
Your red lipstick could save you.

A week later I found a box
Under my doormat.
Inside it, a suitcase containing
Souvenirs from places we’d planned to travel.
I’d promised to write, but you
Said everything with
The brand new Mary Kay
At the bottom of the pile.

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