Miranda's Blues

For weeks, I cried myself to sleep While my prince charming was snoring gracefully beside me. And those were the better weeks. The good ones quickly followed, In a rather orderly fashion With dinner parties and cocktails, And barbeques, and “the boys are coming over to watch the game hon” The bad ones, came with a promotion, a corner office with a panoramic view and “don’t wait up” phone calls. The worse ones, I expected. And when they came, they weren’t all that bad. They came in fancy suits, a settlement, and a fat alimony. These days I spend a lot of time trying to remember, a shipwreck, a game of chess, a promise… It is so odd, I feel I am supposed to remember something but I am not sure what or why. And what of this man I dream at nights? He’s standing on some distant shore, His body’s bent His arms thrown by his side He does not move Nor wave Till he becomes a blurry dot in the horizon And then a cry. I wake up drenched in sweat, shaking, almost terrified That desperate, piercing, soulful cry So sharp, so deep, so purifying! But was it his, or mine?