I kept my hat on as I slid into the musty library,
All dust and mahogany, not decorated in years.
I knew the place to go because he’d left me clues
So intricate in their design, a treasure hunt, of sorts.
All across the city, and this, the final clue.
He’d left the notes zipped in boxes once belonging
To biscuits that we had bought for anniversaries.
When he died, I thought that life would never regain colour,
Always drenched in black and white.
And then his handsome smile emerged again.
I followed words he’d written me, before that illness stole
His perfect soul away from me.
The library on the Old Kent Road was where we met
And so it’s fitting that he led me there,
Through the dusty shelves, running fingers over spines,
Remembering my hand in his the day before he died.
Wiping tears away, I pulled the book and flipped to ninety two,
The year we married, a special day that never fades.
The letter floated to the ground, landing at my feet
And when I picked it up and read, the tears fell faster
Than they ever had. Why?
Why would God have taken him from me?
I crumpled to the ground and took the poison from my bag.
Between my painful sobs, I sipped.
With my back back pressed firm against the shelves
I took the poison, slipping from this world in time.
I saw him reaching out to me, his hand was urging,
“Come, come with me.”
I gladly went with him and now I know
That life alone was worse than death,
The crushing grief too much to bear.
I’m sure that others know these ghostly fingers
That claw at hearts and minds.
And I respect the savage strength
That you display, day after day.
Keep going, even though it hurts.