Change (Poetry)

It’s Monday and, on impulse
I hang the cups a different way
for no reason except, perhaps
some spontaneous display

of independence. Then, when I dust
the books on the shelf
I rearrange their order —
just to suit myself.

And I’ve stopped talking to you
I talk to me instead
for you rarely gave an answer
when alive — and now you’re dead.

So, it’s time to take the photographs
and put them in a drawer
I’ll keep them to remember
that I had a life before.

And I think I’ll change the curtains
and buy myself a dress
for I’m looking in the mirror
and I’m seeing someone else.