Kaleidoscope

The light is streaming in between the curtains, 

and its the same light that shone through your willowy hair

that day you walked past me for the very first time.

You had a checkered dress on and the liveliest eyes I'd ever seen.

Honey, I'm sitting beside dust and an unfinished crossword puzzle,

the t.v. murmurs from across the room and I know it,

you're there in the sunlight that filters through the dirty window pane. 

I can smell your perfume on the drafts they say will be the death of me,

I can hear your laughter coming down the hall, and oh

you always had the smoothest skin-

I can still remember how it felt to hold your hand.

You slipped away and I swear that you took me with you, 

but the kids and the doctors tell me different.

"You're still alive," they plead, voices dripping with concern, 

and I nod my head and think about the way you washed the dishes, 

hips swaying gently to the songs you hummed to yourself.

"You're still alive," I repeat and repeat to myself as I stare at your side of the bed, 

your glasses resting on the nightstand, my eyes still searching 

for your familiar outline beneath the sheets.

The glow from outside is turning to a dim buttery yellow and 

I'm losing you all over again.

I close my eyes to the memory of you drifting away from me,

the faded colors from the t.v. screen dart across my eyelids and

all I see, darling, is a kaleidoscope of you- 

still humming, swaying, smiling, eyes as lively as ever, your hand resting firmly in mine-

and we're dancing the two-step, like we did all those times before-

and the light is still shining through your hair.