The Essence of me

I

The table is a rich cherry oak, and it smells like bleach.
They had to clean it up, borne of flesh and bone.
Photographs, emptied into the trash.
Memories discarded like banana peels.

II

We planned to ride on the freeway,
with the windows down and the stereo turned up.
He would be the gearstick, and I, the backseat driver.
A flurry of love rained down on me
for the first time in my life.

III

What should I do with this burden?
How do I navigate this tornado?
The elements sucked into this storm,
blood and tears breaking all shelter.
All that is left is the land,
and our two feet smushed into the shallow water.

IV

His apartment stands soulless.
If you reach a state of anonymity,
you’ll see his movements.
Washing the dishes like he’s still there,
cleaning up like he’s still there,
reading his book on his lounge chair,
as though he’s still there.

V

Now, he’s on my back.
I carry him wherever I go,
a distant whisper or a temperamental shadow.
I know, I know.
His existence precedes my essence