In Honor of My Divorce Going Through: For Tim

In honor of my divorce finally going through, I would like to post a poem I wrote during last fall, when it finally began to sink in that sometimes you really don't stay close friends with your Ex anymore.

My divorce finally became official about a month ago, but it has taken a little time for that to sink in. I suppose that although I make jokes about my ex-husband or write sardonic amusing anecdotes about my past marriages, the bottom line is that when you love someone and it ends, it can be very painful and sad. Regardless of the circumstances.

My preference to deal with things that make me sad is to first be mournful...and then get humorously bitter; a combination, if you will, of David Sedaris, Dennis Miller, and my friend Liza Linder - but in my own way.

Fellow Ornery Woman writer Carol Maric invited me to join WritersCafe.org, and in doing so, I started to go over my poems I have written over the last three years. I re-read this one and began to cry - and realized that although I am glad the divorce went through, it is still a very sad thing...and ultimately, as many (most?) people who get married do, I had thought it would last forever.

Although I am thankful for our ability to call it quits and remain polite to each other, the empty space of where a friend once stood at times seems very large indeed.


For Tim

I let the book of
Poetry by Hardy
Rest in my lap, my finger
Wedged in the crook of the first poem's page,
And I can't go on.

Their love is over,
The two on that page
By the autumn's dying tree
Dead smile playing on her lips
Dead like an animal run over
In the road.

Their love is over,
And so is ours; funny thing
I had thought it already was
But had forgotten the ghost
Of what is called friend
Or what is taken for granted
Late nights, feverish from hospital stay
You took me home to get well,
Slept on the sofa
And I knew I could count on you -

No more.

The notes of our tune are fading out
The last stanzas of a song played too long
Yet one that was played well
Can you still hear the echo
Strains of some old jazz score
Like the one you sang a capella
In the bar where we met that night
Or like the Burning Star
Sung to me under stars
On a damp campus field
At the end of summer days.

I wish you well; you can sing those for her now.

Funny how you don't realize how much
You miss a friend until you know
That you cannot really call them friend
Anymore.



If you care to, you can read more of my poetry at www.billychic.blogspot.com

and soon you can read some over at WritersCafe.org (I just joined and I'm adding my work piecemeal...I hope to add some of my fiction at some point:



Please be sure to stop by Carol's page as well.