Drifting by Marcia M.G. Bastos

prompt: it didn't come with a manual

You went again, then came back in my dream
I awoke - sheets tangled, like the years since you left
 
Counting aloud now, six years - and still in tears
The gravity of the void your going left in my throat
 
I remember the days when I took you for granted
I remember when I realized I would no longer do that
 
It didn’t come with a manual when your home turned to hospice
After we knew, after it began working its way through you

We’d sometimes sleep in the same bed,
Within the walls you laboured into home
 
I’d drift awake to find the air you breathed,
Lapping lightly at my face
 
In that same room, we created a temple
Warmth and light dripping like honey
 
Soon, it bound you to it
Turning temple to prison
 
I’d sit, and I’d talk, and you’d lay silent, looking,
Your chest rising and rattling
 
Still, your eyes shone -
Love drifting out of them.

---

Marcia M. G. Bastos is a born-and-raised Calgarian who works as a communications professional. She vividly remembers the moment when creative writing became a part of her life - she was walking home after school one day as a teenager, when emotion suddenly poured out of her. Upon arriving home, it bubbled up and onto a Word document on her family's computer in the form of poetry. Since then, writing has been a welcome friend. Marcia has an Honours Bachelor of Arts degree in English Literature and has taken many creative writing courses since graduating. Over the past decade, she has focused on corporate pursuits in marketing and communications, but makes time for creative writing when possible, and aspires to become a real-life writer. "Drifting" is one of her poems.