Portfolio of Hope

When I was a little girl, you promised that you would always be there
for me,
that you would never leave

Tucking me in,
kissing my head,
turning my light off,
I asked if that was a pinky promise,
you said it was.
Fingers wrapped together-
a contractual obligation:

In need of reassurance, I asked you one last time,
‘Are you sure?’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die’
you said.

You kept that promise for 21 years
you didn’t.
you couldn’t.
And now here I am,
sitting at your bedside,
and it’s me tucking you in,
me kissing your head,
me turning your light off,
telling you;
‘It’s okay.
You can rest now.’

Watching silent tears running down your cheeks,
you squeeze my hand-
sharp intake of breath-
‘Cross my heart and hope to die’,
you say-
final time-
and then
you’re gone.
Life drained away-

No sooner have I let go of your hand
than they’re covering you up,
draping a sheet over your face-
too white,
too cold-
hiding death,
hiding life-
all traces of it-
as though the previous 90 years never even happened.

One response to “‘Cross My Heart’”

  1. Thank you for baring your heart!

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