Notes for a Postpartum Letter

I
I'd like to leave this house of sadness,
as you, Edna, have left me and this world,
with so many things left unfinished,
and I, with so many things left unfinished:
Useless.

II
You were the opposite pole,
whose energy sent me out into the countryside and onto the river,
and when your energy faltered,
into the arms of Jesus.
Edna, my love, you have left me, and this world,
yet I cannot say "it is finished."

III
If I think of returning to places we once visited,
I am filled with dread and sadness
(I should look into this),
yet I sleep in the bed where you died;
my spirit sinks sometimes
when I return to that house and that room
after a long day at work.
Yet, for now, it remains my home,
a home of suffering and sadness.

IV
Edna, how could we live together for 27 years
and still know so little about each other?
I blush now with shame.

V
Often, when we tangled,
it was like arguing with a mirror.
You could match me fault for fault;
perfect point counter point.

VI
Now and then I pray at the couch
where you rested day and night,
and I can still smell the chemo
that that seeped from your poor saturated body.

VII
I remember putting a waterproof sheet on the bed
because of what I'd read about things the body does
when it expires.
But it wasn't real; I expected a miracle.