Spill Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

I poured my heart into one long, ambient sigh,
letting it flow down into its final release.
It lasted longer than all of the years gone by,
folding itself among the night-black verdigris.

The density lingered in the back of your eyes.
I agonized, hoping you would ask me to stay.
I lost my soul, bone-weary, and drowned in my cries
as you said, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Midnight cascaded around me and cloaked the floor,
and I gathered the remnants of nothing and less
and split into fragments of yes-no-nevermore,
weaving the sadness into the hem of my dress.

I plucked your rib from my side and buried it deep
like a waning crescent that tumbled from the sky
so that when you fade into darkness I will keep
a small sliver of light to remember you by.

When the days are darker than I think I can stand
and my darker self is empty of strength and will,
I hold the memories within withering hand
then I open my fingers and I let them spill.