I arose late on the hour

The sun dipped its golden crown in the pool of blue and cobalt. She was in the kitchen throwing tarnished steel pots, unwashed forks and knives. Red faced, teary-eyed, a moving orb of bubble and gas. I saw spit crawling down her lips with hickory rib sauce. “I’m sorry,” I could’ve said but I’d already missed her honey and lavender voice, her choking up sobs, peach-fuzz rain drizzling on the front porch. Maybe a rose on the wooden table? Maybe two glasses of Cheer wine?  Maybe her remembering boondocks, romantic comedies? Instead,

I’m at the door, suitcase and dirty clothes in hand. Clutching cold garments in pitch black night. She wants to leave me out here till dawn when the golden crown is up and shining there, right there on the horizon, again. I wish to scream back: Woman! Girl! Child! Remember when we were young, remember sunset, remember dawn, remember every step we took back to the porch, when we stopped to look at the stars submerge themselves in the pool of night. I never forgot.