I watched her pack
and choked down
the impulse to make
breakfast for her
as she glided from
the closet to the dresser
trying to remember
all the small things.
It's just as well
that I didn't.
She wouldn't have cried anyway
and wouldn't have stayed.
I fixed a drink
and lit a Camel
the way I always did,
trying to look cool,
holding it by the filter
with the tobacco cupped
inside my hand
then sliding off the end
and raising the match
to set in motion
what would never leave me,
would never take my heart,
open old wounds,
laugh at my jokes,
kiss me delicately
as if she knew my heart
might break,
or smile
like the sun coming up
over Monterey Bay.
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