Your name next to mine,

Typed neatly in Arial size 20 font

Deliver letters for two, Mr. Postman.

This is where we live, this is where we love.

The names united in one place,

Had a sense of permanency in print.

As if they would never be crossed out.

 

As if people didn’t one day wake up

And decide they don’t want this life anymore,

With this person who had been sleeping next to them

Night after night, their back curled in a fetal position

Who made them fruit salad every morning

And instead of cigarettes wanted them to exercise

And sometimes didn’t screw the lid on tightly on the salad dressing.

 

As if people didn’t one day pack their toothbrush and leave.

So then one name remained, and just a ghost of the other.

And the unfinished basement, with the window glass ready to be cut

And the uneaten chocolate chip cookies on top of the fridge

And the Sunbrella patio furniture collecting rain in the un-mowed backyard.

Then both names became ghosts. And the yard collected snow.

 

A few months later, a new couple moved in

with two dogs, and their own mailbox label.