75

She looked me in the eyes
and all of a sudden, I forgot who I was,
and I was sticking my barren feet
under the sheets, still cold
from not having been used all day,
to let the warmth build up around me
under the covers.
I felt her words cover my head and neck,
bathing me, cleansing me, 
running cool from the tap
until the water heater croaks to life
and you hear whining in the pipes
like the ringing of your ears,
and of course, I didn’t hear what she said.
Then I dropped into the bed
and saw the light around me grow dim,
and instantly from day,
it was—to night
and the sheets were warm, 
and the water just right,
and I closed my eyes;
I hoped then, if I didn’t open them again,
I wouldn’t see her leave.
I tried to keep them closed, I tried,
but my blood ran cold,
and I awoke to a misplaced blanket
that let all of the warm air out,
and found her missing, gone,
vanished, and thus another day
I would collect all the fragments of my skull
to piece them together after they had all
fallen apart,
my memories spilled against asphalt
and who I was before her on a stretcher
being carried away with each glance
of where she used to sleep on my bed.
I hate the way people stare into my eyes
knowing the same person 
doesn’t don them anymore,
but I hope at least
I remind them less and less of her.

Christopher Cassetty

Fragmentation