Words That Burn

The Hanging Hours, by Nathalie Handal (1969-)

When I leave the windows will be shut
the air in the room will be moist
the city loud and everything will continue as usual –
the telephone will not stop ringing, the electricity will
go on and off, the coffee will be brewing

When I leave the sky will dress in light blue
before wearing black, the people I know will have tears
descending from their eyes to their hands
before they wipe them off and continue their tasks

The bed I leave will be warm
the other body will not know I am missing
until the very next day when the hours hang
in his heart as he finds himself in a mild season
a wild place where breaths crowd the bedroom