five of swords reversed

The hopeless romantic in you died
a strange death: the power went out
and in the dark she rummaged
through the cabinet under the sink--
clasping an old sponge, a container
of silver polish, a rubber glove, and finally,
the waxy frame of a candle saved for
those rare, dark occasions.

The hopeless romantic bumped her head
as she rose from hands and knees
and muttering disgruntled nothings
under her breath, she struck a match,
cautiously inched up the stairs,
fell asleep,
and vanished.

Sometimes you thought you saw her ghost
floating around the fireplace, hovering
behind those old brown curtains, but anytime
she caught your eye, you'd blink her away.

You learned not to blink, but she
learned to disappear.

You made it through anger, denial,
you bargained, you cast off the fog of
depression and you accepted
she was gone

and then she came back.
And, bumpy head intact, she tried to seduce you,
and you were not so sure you wanted her
anymore.