Leaving Long Beach

The yellow sun had risen
over Long Beach that cold
December morning and I

was standing on her green doormat.
She answered the slow, wooden door,
sick and tired and crying,

and I felt the same.
She wore the old, familiar
comfortable sweats–

the light blue Sierra Nevada brewery hoodie
that I gave her years ago, the beat up royal blue
sweatpants that have seen better

days. My eyes were red and swollen
and full of salty dog tears
and the words

caught in my aching throat.
My heavy breath was visible in the
early morning cold

of that December morning.
“Don’t say goodbye”, she said…
But it was.