The truth is dark outside the curtain.
Your eyes are closed to the falling snow
that’s nestling at the feet of tall trees
that stand close and crowded
as commuters on the evening train.
If there’s a purpose to pain
it’s to teach you how to let go.
You didn’t realise it but
you can learn to live with the quiet,
learn to listen to the space
of someone’s absence.
You can find a room there in the silence
like a cabin in a static of snow.
Where there’s nothing but a chair and table
and a clean white sheet of paper
on which to practice saying goodbye
over and over.
Tom Harding lives in Northampton, UK, where when not working, he writes poetry and draws. He has been published in various places, including Drunk Monkeys, Shot Glass Journal, Lighthouse, Sentinel Literary Quarterly and Nthposition. He also maintains a website of his work at http://www.tomharding.net.