Epilogue
Lauren Kantrovich
If I told you I was dead, would you kiss my brow? Would you lean over my body at the wake, hover over my grave and speak to me? What would you tell me, my love? That you miss me? That I was your Vega? Would you bring me purple violets— rest them gently on the granite you’d keep clean for me? What will you tell me, my dear? When I am gone— will you regret the going? The coughing and the temper, short and high? Will you have reason to tell me anything but “I’m glad you’re gone now”? Will you even miss me? What’s that you said, my wife? Speak up if you want me to listen. So you’ve found a new lover she’s a little bit younger, and her dark skin shines like the night. She sounds lovely. Why are you crying? Do you think you’ve betrayed me? I don’t want your sorrows and tears. I don’t need them. A grave is cold but comfortable. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re near.
50
Well… Now that I think about it, ignore what I said. Tell me your troubles, your challenges and fears. Alyssum maritimum, you cannot trouble me here.
