Photo by Taylor Flowe on Unsplash
i
what would you say if you knew
that 4 years from now
i would get dressed
with the intention of going
to the local party venue;
the one where i spilled mignonette sauce
in the darkness of the poorly lit restaurant
I was thinking about you
i can tell he is still jealous of you
but we can’t move our eyes from the wood paneled floors.
the place was heavily decorated
pink tulle hanging from the ceiling
like shrouds.
I can’t stop thinking
about the bad taste in my mouth
in the form of your handwriting.
but i never left the house that day.
i sat at the top of my staircase with trembling hands.
and i know why we never got the timing right.
i just couldn’t handle it.
ii
but what would you say if i told you i would be
mourning alongside your weeping mother
where your funeral is being held
in the black dress i wore on our third date.
and the last hours hurt
even after you’re gone.
my husband held my hand with both of his
before we even got the news.
pixie lights
wrapped around the skin colored beams.
the last words you left me with
burn a hole in the back of my armoire.
god knew that if we were still together,
You would be the one person who ever understood.
iii
what would you say if you knew
that 4 years from now i would be
mourning alongside your weeping mother.
i would get dressed
with the intention of going
to the local party venue
where your funeral is being held;
wearing the black dress that i wore on our third date
the one i spilled mignonette sauce on
in the darkness of the poorly lit restaurant
I was thinking about you
and your last hours
as my husband holds my hand with both of his
i can tell he is still jealous of you
even after you’re gone.
but we can’t move our eyes from the wood paneled floors.
the place was heavily decorated
before you even got in the car
with pixie lights
and pink tulle hanging from the ceiling,
wrapped around the skin colored beams
like shrouds.
I can’t stop thinking
about the last words you left me with
in the form of your handwriting
which leave a bad taste in my mouth
and burn a hole in the back of my armoire
You were the one person who ever understood.
but i never left the house that day.
instead, i sat at the top of my staircase with trembling hands
and your tear-stained note buried in the pocket of my black dress.
and i now know why we never got the timing right.
god knew that if we were still together,
i wouldn’t be able to handle this.
Deema Bteibet is a Palestinian-American writer from Cleveland, Ohio. She graduated from Cleveland State University where she received a Creative Writing Scholarship for her nonfiction work and is currently working on getting her Masters in Literature in Indiana. A lot of her inspiration comes from Warsan Shire, Vladimir Nabokov, and F. Scott Fitzgerald.