I Saw You Today

You sat on the taupe armchair
in my living room and refused
my offer of coffee or tea,
just as you always do.
I told you some silly stories
and we laughed together,
talked about sports, validated
each other’s passionate opinions.
Maybe we’re just old, we said,
but—more likely—the world
really is crazy. You listened to me,
something you never did
when you lived here. You said
nothing that was sympathetic,
yet I felt as if you heard me.

Who are you? I wondered, for
the thousandth time. I thought
of that time, thirty years ago,
when I saw you—tall and blond,
arms crossed—leaning against
the restaurant wall, waiting for me,
and I felt, for a moment,
like we were in a movie.
Marriage is a fragile thing;
I will never finish picking up
the shattered pieces of ours—
I swallow them when I breathe,
they cling to my skin, they float
around the head of the ghost-like
woman I see when I look in the mirror.

I still do not know who you are
or who we were. But I know
that we, too, are fragile,
that we will never again be
who we once were. I know
that resolution is just a word,
and that we are somehow bound
forever. I know this because,
for just a little while,
I saw you today.

Sleeping in a New Bed

We hadn’t had the bed that long
when the marriage ended.
I’d had the legs cut down,
knowing that he wouldn’t notice.
When he moved out, I had them
cut down again because my body
craves intimacy with the vibrations
of the earth. It was solid ash,
stained mahogany—durable,
but highlighted by that red-brown
tint of blood. I changed
the wall color, the art, the lamp,
the nightstand, the bedding.
The room became an oasis
of serenity, but no amount
of mauve and gray could
calm the fires of my mind
or ease the stiffness of my limbs.

But once disassembled, the bed,
a neat pile of glossy boards,
lost its power. Now I sleep
on a new bed. The wood
is a lighter tone, the headboard is solid
and sturdy. I am still close to the earth,
but I no longer lie on layers of sorrow,
betrayal and regret. A new bed
has no magic power to heal my mind
and body, but its clean, minimal
design whispers a message
as each day ends: Keep it simple,
feel the earth beneath you,
realize your strength, and—
at long last—let your body rest.

Diane Elayne Dees is the author of three chapbooks, Coronary Truth (Kelsay Books), The Last Time I Saw You (Finishing Line Press), and The Wild Parrots of Marigny (Querencia Press), as well as four Origami Poems Project microchaps. Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world. Her author blog is Diane Elayne Dees: Poet and Writer-at-Large.