Finding the Manuscript

A poem by Julia R. DeStefano

Photo by Charles on Unsplash

Finding the Manuscript

For how long did you know you would die?

The shadows arrive with the sleeplessness

but offer no answers.

They’re selfish, like you -

watching me go from room-to-room,

a scavenger without a clue.

They say we know before it happens.

Did you get a handwritten letter,

shove it beneath your pillowcase -

the last appointment in your book -

an override of more important plans?

Did I turn from you because I knew, too

or tired of you singing to the drink,

to everything with a pulse

but never to me?

© Julia R. DeStefano