Bill and I sit on the porch
in our usual places.
Last night’s air was full of snow
and now it lies clear and bright
in the morning sun. we smoke
cigarettes. not sure how many.
our cigarettes never go out,
the red glow of the ember
a spot of warmth against
the frosty air. To the right
of us lies a cemetery.
We like to walk there alone
sometimes, in silence,
No sound reaching our ears
but the ominous crunching of
snow beneath our cold feet.
We smoke then too.
When we are together,
there always seems to be
a cigarette in hand.
he is my bad habit.
We walk among the tombstones
without the sounds of the world
to disturb our peace;
no cars, no planes, no human voices
but our own.
It is just us and the worms.
Sometimes we speak and then
the worms forgive us, but mostly
we just walk in silence,
the gravestones rising out of
the snow around us.
But we are not there today.
Today we just sit together
Side by side on his bench,
Me on the left, our bodies
Slightly huddled against
The cold. The smoke rises
With the steam of our breath.
It is impossible to tell
Where one ends and the next
Begins as they rise together
And slowly disappear,
Just as it is impossible
To tell the edge
Of one day against the next.
We have sat here for
Minutes, hours, days, years,
Whole millennia have passed
As we sit and smoke
Our cigarettes contently together.
We speak, but not what needs
To be said. That will take more
Courage than we can muster,
More time than we can find.
So strange how plentiful
Time may seem to those without
An agenda or pending end!
So strange how time abandons
Us…Time is running out.
Our cigarettes are running out,
Too. We sit, together ignoring
This fact, hoping it will Correct itself.
Bill and I met through cigarettes,
At a party, back when the plants
On his porch were green
And the metal lady stood
In the corner watching
As birds perched on her
Elegant shoulders and breast.
All of these things are gone now;
The parties, the green, the silver lady,
All have disappeared slowly
As Bill prepared to leave.
Now it is just us left, alone,
With our cigarettes and the snow
And the clear blue morning
And the birds still visiting,
Sitting on the rail.
It has been 6 months
Since I first came to stay.
This is not my home
But I think my home has
Forgotten my name, my bed
Forgotten the shape of
My body. I do return there,
But at night, this is where
I find my rest. Together,
We fill our night with
Music, movies, general mayhem.
We explore the town together,
Searching for the perfect bar
Where we can escape reality.
Some nights are more simple.
We sit in silence reading.
Bill is writing a book,
I like to think that
I am his muse,
That being there is enough
To inspire his ideas.
Me and the cigarettes.
Both of us have quit.
Even as we sit in this lie,
So obvious to the morning air
We still insist on this fact.
Smoking doesn’t count
When we are together. It is
Our secret, our guilty pleasure,
Our eternal connection to each other.
Bill exists in each cigarette
That I bring up to my cold
Shivering lips. He rises with
The smoke every time I exhale.
It is my way of having him here
With me after he is long gone.
How romantic, he says
Sarcastically as a match
Flares into life between
His fingers. This is it.
Like a gentleman, he lights
My cigarette first, shielding
The flame of the match from
The wind beyond the porch.
The smell of sulfur plays inside
Of my nostrils, trying to coax
A sneeze out of me. I hold it in,
Not wanting to ruin these
Final moments. Now we sit
In silent simplicity together,
No words, just our two
Bodies bundled on a bench,
Our breathing the only sound
As we expel the smoke
From Our lungs. He is
Full of fear; fear of failure,
Fear of the unknown,
Fear of being alone. I am
Full of fear as well,
But a different type of fear.
What will I do without him?
What will he do without me?
I fear because I can no longer
Be there to help him through
The tough times he is about
To face, I can no longer be
His muse, I can no longer
Come running when the world
Crashes down.
His fear is more Legitimate than mine.
Our cigarettes are halfway
Gone. I have been crying
For quite some time now
So I continue to look
Straight ahead. I know that
He knows anyway, just as i
Know he is doing the same.
The seconds reach out beyond,
Beyond the edge of the porch,
beyond sunrises And sunsets,
beyond the turn of oceans’ tide,
beyond the birth and death
of stars and atoms,
and the smoke rising
from our lips. Time stretches
beyond oblivion just for us.
And suddenly time kicks
Back into full swing once
More. We have smoked all
But one cigarette we save,
The ones in our hands have
All but gone out. With a flick,
Bill sends his butt flying
Over the rail and down to
The unknown lying below.
Mine is less successful,
Bouncing off of the steel
In a marvelous fountain
Of sparks, as though
Even the cigarette does not
Want any of this to end.
But all things must end.
We sit a few more seconds.
It is time and we both know it.
Wiping his face, Bill slowly
Stands and stretches, grunting
As he fights the cold out of
His muscles. It is still silent.
Entering the apartment one
Last time, Bill returns with
Tobey, his faithful cat
And only companion for
The new journey he is
About to embark on.
We descend the steps,
Zig-zagging down the building.
Three flights.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Two flights.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
One flight
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Half a flight
1
2
3
4
…
5
…
6
…
7
…
8
We reach the bottom with
A few last grudging steps.
Tobey the cat is dumped
Unceremoniously into
The passenger’s seat,
He mews ungraciously
Before curling up,
Already half asleep.
This is it. Tears stream
Down my face as I
See the same reflected
On his own. We can not
Delay any longer, there is
A long, lonely drive ahead.
We hug, holding each other
Close as if that will keep
The moment from passing.
We whisper in
Each other’s ear, secrets
And promises that we know
Will be kept. With a kiss
On the cheek, I let him go.
Somebody mutters an
I love you
Though im not sure who,
The tears make it difficult
To sort anything out.
But it doesn’t matter who,
We both know its true,
Have both said it
A hundred times before,
Will both say it
A hundred times again.
The phrase hangs between us
Before dropping to the snow
With our tears.
Bill opens the door and slowly
Gets into his car.
We both take the last cigarette
Out of our packs,
The ones we had saved
For the final farewell,
And put them to our lips.
With frozen fingers
We light them, inhaling.
It is time to leave.
I stand watching
As the door closes and Bill
Finally pulls away,
My cigarette forgotten in
My hand. Goodbye I mutter
Before turning away
For the long, lonely walk home.
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