Despedida

Theresa Garcia-Ruiz 

May 21, 2023

To Despair,

Thank you for your visit.  You’re probably surprised to be hearing from me. 

I have to admit, I’m surprised to be writing to you, too. After all, 

we both know I’ve been avoiding you. I don’t blame you, of course,

but over the years I’ve lost track of the times I’ve hurried through 

sanitized double doors, listening 

like a cat

with one ear 

turned, tuned in to the satisfying soft-close behind me. For a moment, 

it made me happy to think I’d outrun you again. But I already knew 

you didn’t need open doors. You filtered through every time. Like a moonbeam 

lights the leafless trees, you kept a faint glow burning 

in winter’s long, frozen night. 

You followed me. Light without warmth.

You waited. 

Outside the door to room 333

tucked quietly into the hospital corners, squeezing tight

under the bleached-to-bones cotton blanket. Waiting 

to follow me home. Always 

barely a whisper, a faint scent nearly lost

on the ragged breath of midnight 

until that terrible morning. You were there. Finally

I saw you 

joining hands with Sorrow and with Mourning. The beginning 

of my Day of Three Shadows.

Together, you wrapped me in a thick, invisible blanket, an inner hug 

gifting me a strange and utter Quiet. 

Palpable

strong enough 

to mute the rest of the world. Just for a while, 

as I struggled to

see in weaker light, to

tune into the great unspoken, to

find a way to 

breathe 

this new day

this new life

this new me.

Theresa Garcia-Ruiz enjoys life on the Texas Coast.  Her work has previously appeared in the Mays Publishing 2021 Corpus Christi Writer’s Anthology and in Windward Review.  This piece was inspired by a workshop on letter poems hosted by Sarah K. Lenz and the Corpus Christi Writer’s Studio.