You were feeling a little tiresome
that Saturday afternoon,
you're husband suggested
a lie down would do you good,
joining you with the papers
he sat up reading
propped up with pillows, while you
dozed gently into the feathered down.

Sometime after that;
You slipped into heaven

How?How did you leave so silently
from beneath the sheets of your skin.
You left them there
not a crinkle or crease
as if the bed of you had never been slept in.

You slipped into heaven,
did anyone see you enter?
No one saw you depart
from that part of you
that walked, cried, loved and gave birth
cried and loved again.
You didn't look back unlike Lots wife
for if you did
surely not even God could have held you,
you would have come running back, gasping
into your skin
clearing the room
of the pain and grieve, the emptiness of you
that filled it..... And still does

But you, slipped into heaven, somewhere
between the war in Syria and the sports pages
and left a wake behind you, how could you?.....Why?

I've pondered on your departure;
but more than not
It's your husband I think of,
I think of the silence
I think of, does he remember what he was reading
that day..... when you slipped into heaven,
I think, can he ever read a paper again
and does he still sleep in that bed,
or maybe he will never wash the sheets again, capturing
you in smell, holding
the memory of you in, in scent,
sometimes refusing to get up in the morning
and locking the windows
in case you escape for a second time...

But most of all,
I think he suffers,
you never said goodbye!
He would have wanted to kiss you into heaven.
I know I would.