I made her a martini on the rocks,
But she didn't like it.
I could tell,
She stirred
After a small sip.
We started to dance in a room
Where the ceiling
Seemed as expansive
As the sky.
"Billie Holiday's pain is more beautiful than mine." I said
"I hope you never speak to your wife this way."
She said
A tall blonde danced by
And mother smiled,
"Isn't she adorable, be a go getter Edward."
Her eyes were warm with love and gin
As we danced in dim light.
The blonde danced by us again,
So mother gently pushed me away,
Under her breath she said
"Go get her".
I hadn't heard her voice in years
I woke with it all over me.
Like that gentle and rolling thunder
And the water from heaven cool
In my open window.
My father waited more than a year to clear her things out of the upstairs bathroom.
Each morning before school when I took a shower,
The bathroom smelled just like her.
Her body lotion, face lotion, perfume…
Each evening too after basketball or baseball practice.
The evening that my father made the decision to remove her personal items from the upstairs bathroom,
My father, a man of many words, just uttered one sentence-
“I hope she will always come floating through the air to me”
My father then took a long pull and finished his martini.
He lowered his head and wandered into his bedroom.
I was thinking of my father as
I turned off the lamps in my room.
Did he sleep at night? I thought.
I lifted the windowpane above my bed to feel
The October air in my bedroom
“I hope she will always come floating through the air to me”
I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.
The air was thick with the smell of smoldering leaves.
My mind wandered to memories of her and leaves
And love and then
The house felt still and vacant.
I lit a cigarette and turned on the stereo.
I fell back onto my bed,
The cold air rushed through the window and against my face.
I inhaled deeply on my cigarette,
Savoring the warmth and humidity of it.
Listening to the sounds outside of my window, I said to myself again
“I hope she will always come floating through the air to me”
I heard the sound of dogs howling in the distance,
They sounded hungry and cold.
I listened as the wind screeched and howled,
I burrowed into the covers of my bed to keep warm.
My stereo played softly as I drifted under thick blankets,
I was almost asleep when the sudden silence of trees woke me up.
I thought of my father,
When did he last sleep?
I thought of his last words-
“I hope she will always come floating through the air to me”
We feel asleep with the window open that night,
Mississippi John Hurt playing on the stereo,
I’m fairly confident that the last song on that record is
You are my Sunshine.
