you were slipping out of my life.
I didn’t know what I’d done,
your non-answers slid
and caromed against walls.
I dangled book sales and lunch dates,
jaunts we’d enjoyed together,
but the distance between us
stretched like a rubber snake.
In silence you slid
away through the grass
leaving no sign of your passage.
Only later, when I’d wished you
a silent farewell and released
my tug on your heart
did I recognize that the day you spilled
all the agony that heart held
was the day I suddenly knew too much
and you started to leave.
About the Author
Patricia Wellingham-Jones is a former psychology researcher and writer/editor with an interest in healing writing and the benefits of writing and reading work together. Widely published in poetry and nonfiction, she writes for the review department of Recovering the Self: A Journal of Hope and Healing and has ten chapbooks of poetry published.