Do not go
gentle or quiet or clean.
Abandon your socks in the dryer, bed sheets still warm,
and be sure to slam the door at least twice on your way out
so I know it’s not a drill, not this time around
or ever again.
Give me the cue to break and don’t scrub your breakfast plate.
Leave sticky breadcrumbs on the kitchen counter
for me to sponge away later, dribbles of hardened maple syrup
for me to scrape as part of the brutal ceremony
of setting you free.
Leave the toothpaste tube uncapped, the radio on,
hell, even spill your aftershave on purpose.
There is a kinder method to leaving the woman who loves you
and it is by withdrawing articulately,
leaving no space for silence to take your place at the table,
for heartache to fold her laundry, for misery to marry her
because all it takes is time.
If you should go
let her know.
Leave the light on.