The Intimacy of Small Things

10/06/2020 – Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

I don’t miss the way you’d leave the towels

In a pile on the floor after you’d had a shower

And I had to put them back on the towel rail

So they would actually dry off again.

 

I do miss the way you’d shimmer and shine

When you stepped out of the shower

All drippy and covered in goose bumps

From the cold, mid-August night air.

 

I don’t miss the cheap flowers bought in haste

At the petrol station on the corner every year

Because you’d forgotten to plan ahead, again,

And you were already in the bad books.

 

I do miss the wrap around hugs of an evening

When I was trying to do the washing up

And you’d tell me about your day at work

Before planting a kiss on my cheek.

 

I don’t miss the constant disagreements

Over whether the toilet paper should sit

With the next sheet hanging over or under

When you knew I was clearly right.

 

I do miss the constant reminders you’d leave

Around the house before you left for your bus,

Written hastily on post it notes which half stuck,

That said, “I love you” or “I miss you already.”

 

I don’t miss the long hours at the hospital

Waiting for the myriad of tests to come back

And the rounds of treatment that you hated

Because they made you feel like a burden.

 

I do miss the sneaky smiles I’d catch you in

When you thought I wasn’t looking,

That made me break into a smile as well

And you’d ask me why I was smiling.

 

I don’t miss the snoring in my ear

When I was trying to read for five minutes

After not having a moment to myself all day

Then you claiming next morning you don’t snore.

 

I do miss lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed

After the kids were old enough, and trusted,

To get their own toast for breakfast

Without destroying every room they entered.

 

I don’t miss the beeping machines

Every night while you were in that bed

Hooked up to drips and ventilators

That kept your body ticking over.

 

I do miss your voice, with its slight lilt,

Promising you’ll remember next time

And it won’t happen again but I’d give anything

To find one more wet towel on the floor.