a roomie

when i didn’t hear you stir
this morning
at your regularly scheduled
hour
i found myself wondering
what
life would be like
if you suddenly weren’t
there
and what kind of
life insurance
policy
would cover what you do
and who you are to
me
i pictured myself
speaking
to a
bespectacled
insurance agent
watching him
scribble furiously
on his notepad
with a stubby yellow
pencil
while i listed
from where i was perched
in the plastic office chair
across from his desk,
the things i would
be lacking if you
left,
droning on
as if i were
going down a list
of groceries
or errands to
run on the way
home
and then caught myself
puzzling
over how to cover
the way you grin at me
at the end of a long day,
the quiet way you let me
be
when i am not sure how to
be present,
the little acts of kindness;
a load of laundry – unexpectedly
cleaned and laid on my bed,
a note with a hand-drawn little
flower in the corner
of it
perched against the faucet
of my bathroom sink,
a breakfast smoothie
halved with me.
the impromptu
taste tests
comparing brownies
or pickles
or sharp cheddar
cheese
from
kroger
to those from
tj's.
not to mention the times
you remind me of
the truth
about God, grace &
the gospel
like it’s something
so real
you have just finished
eating a meal of it
yourself
and you’ve got leftovers
to share.
it disturbed me so,
i dismissed the
insurance agent
who scurried off -
grateful to have
dodged the bullet
of trying to come up
with anything at all
that could possibly make up for
the loss
of
you.