I Called Him Necktie

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The name pleased him. It made him laugh.

Red gray stripes on his chest. That’s how I want to remember him.

2

Seven weeks have passed since I last saw him. In these seven weeks the grass has grown dry and yellow. Cicadas sit chirping in the trees. Gravel crunches under my feet. In the harsh light of the midday sun, the park looks strangely desolate. Blossoms burst open on branches, bending wearily towards the ground. A faded blue handkerchief lies in the undergrowth, without a breath of wind to stir it. The air is heavy and oppressive. I’m all scrunched up. I say goodbye to someone who will not come again. I’ve known that since yesterday. He is not coming again. Above me stretches the sky that has swallowed him up — forever?

I still cannot believe that our parting is final. In my mind he could return at any moment, perhaps as someone else, perhaps with a different face, could throw me a glance which says: I’m here. Head turned to the north, smiling at the passing clouds. He could. That’s why I am sitting here.

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