Con te Partirò

By Kathleen Chamberlin

In the cold January winters, when the darkness comes early 
And the nights last forever, 
I find myself another year older 
And I reflect on all that I once was, 
And all that I am, 
And all that I will never be. 
My thoughts linger on those I have loved,
Yearning to once more 
Hear their laughter, feel their touch, see their smiles
I  conjure their faces,
Some shivering beneath the frozen earth,
Never again rejoicing as the crocus, 
Bravely pokes its head above the ground,
Others, like you, swept away by the relentless currents of time,
Far from where once we walked together,
Leaning into each other, hand in hand,  
Lost in the rapture of youth and possibilities,
The breeze, tantalizing, teasing our senses. 
For many years, I told myself,
 “He’ll think of me today. If not today, perhaps tomorrow.”
Each January stumbled into February, soon crowded out by March.
And April brought only dismal rain. 
When May arrived, I sent you silent birthday wishes.  
Perhaps you felt them, like a soft kiss. 
 Each May gave way to the heat of summer: 
June’s warmth surrounded me with memories of 
Sun-soaked skin, still salty from the ocean’s comforting sway
July’s sunsets so breathtaking, we sat lost in their beauty 
Unaware of the inevitability of endings. 
August’s oppressive heat came quickly, the sticky ticking time bomb
That would soon explode into shards of longing, 
Each shortened day a prelude to fall,
Golden days filtering to falling golden leaves
Amid dying gardens, drooping and forlorn. 
And the years passed:
Another and another and another 
Knowing nothing of where you were 
Or if you, too, were now one more casualty of time
Leaving me without the time to say goodbye. 

Kathleen Chamberlin is a retired educator living in Albany, New York.  She began focusing on writing creatively during the quarantine period of Covid-19 and was delighted when her first poem was accepted for publication. Since then, her writing has appeared in both print and online journals and anthologies.