I say goodbye
I say it softly - like a half scream or a half cry
And half of what I could have said and could have been,
if you were with me.
You say goodbye,
so peacefully that it haunts me
Like the memories that have evaporated in your memory
Or even stayed and perched themselves in the happy part of your brain.
I say goodbye, but I don’t mean “good”
It is soul wrenching, wringing me like a silent dishcloth
that would scream if it could, but can’t
because it doesn’t have a means.
I say goodbye,
and like most words I say
it does not match
what’s in my brain.