Am I cured? You’ll have to be the judge of that, Standing facing me in your favorite flannel shirt, And my old straw hat. Each foot set apart as though in eager stride, It was the only way I could recover my pride, Putting what I had left of you on display, Was no easy chore, but it was duty always duty That had kept me behind doors. I had the decency to face your back to the neighbors Night after night they paced the driveway for your footsteps. Praying, always positive and certain. Now you can hear them whispering about you When they take their walks, Pointing at our moving curtains. The children walk past and mock you, I made you much too pleasing to scare, Occasionally a bird will pick at your eyes Gather masses of your hair, Piece by piece I am losing you to the wind, This time I have the leisure of knowing, Each piece as it flutters away and at least, The direction in which it is going.
