A meal without you

Whispers of light
illuminate the finger marks on the
porcelain of a white chipped cup
which sits contently curved.

After dinner plates,
allowing the remains of olive oil
to glide over them like ice skaters
meditate on the large oak table.

Knife and fork lay serenely,
ridges and prongs entwined,
enjoying their after dinner nap.

The crashing of crockery into the sink,
slamming of cupboard doors and
ragged exhaled resentment are now
nothing but a cliched soap scene in my head.

Your absence is kinder than i imagined.
It gently massages my shoulders,
teasing out the knots created through the years,
allowing breath to slow.

The vision that appeared ahead
had been grey, bearded, desolate,
my own shipwreck on the storm we would surely meet,
but now
I am here,
lifted, progressive, progressing

To a place
Where I am liberated.