By Your Leave
Suzanne S. Rancourt
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twelve years ago you died
i held your hand felt your soul leave your fingertips an exit point each tip a sparked flash the kind that snap in my vision when my retina detaches or when i yank my socks off too fast in dry january static electricity jumps a jack over the candlestick arc from charged yarn to ember mottled carpet i prefer this at night when i can see and hear life jump air to ground - a paratrooper still - you fall to earth take no notice of those around who cringe their hearts and shoulders collapsed in recoil i was not like that and gave back vigorously this was the arc we formed whenever we touched it was what you needed to be on your way a leg up lift off charge across the continuum we both knew i would be left this way it’s what i came to do |