`
Dour faced
you stepped into a gaping precipice
leaving me with
my face moist
at the threshold
(its frame now leaning
to one side
splintered and unhinged.)
Did I tell you that my front door
never opened to the street?
Maybe I never had the need to;
you always entered through the back door,
you always crept out the window
to play in the sun.
This time was different:
Before another word could be spoken
you rushed past me
brushing my outstretched arm(s) .
Then all I could see
was your hair tumbling in the air
as your limbs flailed
while you plummeted out of my life.
`
Frederick Kesner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wound-of-a-forced-exit/
