Leaving Desire

Close the windows so we can’t smell
the sweetness of the breezes
evaporating the dew from autumn leaves today.

Draw the blinds and pull the curtains tight.
The sun is too brilliant,
inviting us through soft fog
to walk in this morning, this new October.

I will stop cooking food
rich with butter and salted delicately to taste.
No pumpkin bread will emerge steaming hot from my kitchen
with cloves, cinnamon, or allspice.
Apples and peaches are now out of the question.

The sound of my children laughing as they play must stop.
Those smothering giggles of absolute joy are more than one woman
should endure.

I vow now to give up digging into the doughy dirt each fall,
placing the promise of daffodil, tulip, crocus in her breast.
There will be no purple hyacinth or Star Gazer lilies next year.
I promise to pull up the peonies and bleeding hearts.
And, my God, the daisies,
right at the roots, give them away.
My soul is at stake, after all.

Perhaps when my work is done
I will stop,
lie down in the quiet of my dying room.
Here I will find the courage to say goodbye to your face,
the feel of your hands at my waist
and the cupping of my breasts to your lips.
I will ignore the sound of your voice
as you say my name, low
in time to the skipping beat of my heart.

Finally, when I’ve done all that leaving,
I must quietly acknowledge my desire
to love your generous heart.

The naked truth of that absolute lust
must be locked away in the tomb I will occupy.
It is the clicking shut of that key
and the rattling of these chains of wanting
that will release me from all these illusions
and suffering attachment to this last life.