Heather Bell Adams lives in Raleigh NC. She has published short fiction, poetry, and essays. Visit her website and follow her on Twitter.
The Anticipation of Sweetness
By Heather Bell Adams
This morning I wake up wondering what is different
I stretch out under the blanket
(like a cat, you would say)
reach for my fuzzy slippers
(sexy, you would say, laughing)
and realize it is the smell. The smell is different.
Missing.
I have grown used to the smell of your coffee,
can picture you holding the cup with both hands,
your hair ruffled in the back
like feathers.
I go into the kitchen,
part of me expecting to see you there.
But I don’t. You’re not.
There is a salty smell,
the eggs we cooked yesterday
after we got back from the market.
Not really farmers, you said,
wanting plaid and overalls, heavy boots.
We piled artichokes in a basket and fennel,
the black licorice smell lingering on our fingers.
Tiny onions, a pineapple, not grown here,
but we wanted it anyway,
anticipating the sweetness.
Now on the counter beside it, you have left a note
torn from a notebook with ragged edges,
spirals unfurled.
The slow heat of anger rises in me as I read.
I sift through yesterday looking for clues and
find nothing.
I imagine you packing while I slept,
slinking away while it was still dark.
I grip the edge of the counter as the boil of rage
melts into a flood
of why and how could you and
I am drowning underwater,
sliding down to the floor.
Sometime later, who can say how long,
the water will recede and
the sharp edges of a pineapple
will not be dangerous.
The slender leaves on top
might be the start of something,
like birds preparing to take flight.
So heartbreaking & beautiful.The hopeful endnote lifts up well. Great poetic conveyance of images and emotions