The Monday After the Holiday

What is this? I need to know
the reason for
the tears that wash my face.

I am not bitter. Nor angry. Nor
grasping
helpless
at the fog of passing times.

This time is good.
This life is corporeal
and I hold it
I breathe it in and know
I choose.

The giants do not live here any more.
They stayed and stopped and ate
and draped their wires keyboards frets
released their own enormous sound into the air.
And now they
are not here.
They've gone.

The fridge too full of food
and pies half eaten
sit above.
There is a pint of cream
I did not whip.

I would not hold the giants
here.
They are too large
to fit in their old rooms
or clothes
or life.

I glory in their strength and revel
in the power
of new manhood freed.
I feel their exhilaration.

But this morning
there is a quiet
still
empty.

The giants came
and stayed
and went away again

Today my life is back.

I will eat leftovers.