I repainted the ceiling white
from the former midnight blue
and I’m taking down
the Christmas lights
that I had hung around,
and across, our bedroom
after your doctor said that
you could now only leave
the house, and your bed,
to visit him,
meaning that we could
no longer climb up to our
rooftop lawn chairs
for every-night toasts
to love and life,
to the results of each day,
and to all that we’ve been
lucky enough to have together,
while holding hands
under faint clouds
and the Milky Way.
Your chair remains on the roof,
but mine is now kept in the car
for evening trips to visit you,
and the stars,
and a carved stone that reminds me
of the exact date you left.
Steven Harz is the author of multiple collections of love stories and is a multi-time winner of The Iron Writer Challenge. Originally from West Virginia, he grew up in Maryland, and now lives in New England. He is a graduate of Towson University’s College of Fine Arts and Communication.
