The Five Steps Of Grieving Over The Loss Of A Lover Poem by Lisa Wilson

Step One: Denial

You made the right call,
ending it,
over a cafe latte, and all.
From the beginning,
we knew
I was not right for you,
and you
were not right for me,
even if you had planned to leave your wife.

You wanted me
to be a part of your clan,
to understand a man of your worth
needed more than one thing
to call his own.
You wanted to touch my satiny skin,
stare into my smoldering eyes,
and feel your fingers run through my shiny hair.
But you couldn't stop staring
at the possibility of touching
Janet, Jill, Henry and Lee.

You still love me
I know
But we are far too intoxicated
to stay with the people we love.


Step Two: Anger
'I love you, but...'
As soon as you said that,
I hated you.
I hated the stench of your cologne,
the sweet sound of your rugged voice,
the radiant heat of your piercing blue eyes,
and your smile.
I hated everything about you,
and vowed
to never let your rub your unshaven chin
against my warm, wet, quivering body
Again.


Step Three: Bargaining
He didn't mean to say,
'I love you but...'
He didn't mean to say,
'I doubt if I get back together my wife.'
He didn't mean to say,
'I can't see you because I am sick and want to be alone.'
He really does love you,
and all you need to do now,
is to unblock your phone numbers,
and call him.
He doesn't pick up the phone.

Step Four: Depression
You decide to retrieve your mail after a week,
and find his handwritten letter
in a tall stack of unwanted direct mail.
He writes, 'I will always admire and respect you. I only hope we eventually will get to a point where we can renew our relationship in a mutually beneficial way.'
You toss it, into the compost pile,
along with the Raiders key
you gave him
to open the door to your house.


Step Five: Acceptance
You dig through the compost pile
to retrieve his handwritten letter,
which now smells like shaved pineapple peelings,
and rotting coffee grounds.
You press it against your nostrils,
and breathe in
the smell of lost love,
one more time,
knowing that you can never be
with a man who writes,
'I want you to know that I care about you, and wish nothing but the best.'