On the end table

I held a funeral for us.
Photographs of you and me, and every place we'd been together
Along with the cards and letters
Went into the shredder, then into the fireplace.
The ashes I swept out with great ceremony and care
Put in a consecrated trash bag
And placed alone on the curb.
I said a prayer.

I opened the windows and doors wide
To remove any lingering scent
Like that perfume you loved, that I never told you I hated.
Drained, I sat on the couch
When my eye settled on the indelible, circular stain
From the glass that held your drink
Which, when you walked out, you left half-finished
On the end table.