There are two ways of saying "goodbye"

1.
We could depart like the fraying of threads--
like refrigerator magnets that once
held spelling tests to the fridge.
We could depart like gum wrappers out
car windows or like hemlock lovers.
I could drink whatever poison you wanted though--
I had always hoped that poison
would taste like black jelly beans--
we could leave like scabs or like
the palms of maple leaves in a hail storm.
We could kiss like an albatross
and turn our heads like the neck of a heron.
Yes, we could depart heavy. We could
depart on the rain and leave our umbrellas
inside our glove boxes.
2.
We could say goodbye like I do--
the one who saves spelling tests because
I like lady bug stickers-- the one
who saves forth grade
art projects because something of girl
who wanted to wear two different
colored converse each day 
still lives between lines of felt-tipped
Crayola markers. We can depart like comets that 
pass on an untimely cloudy night once a century--
wave with their tails and we think
we heard them say "i love you all so much"
but it could have just been wind chimes.
I have the throat of a comet tail--
the face of a watch. We can say goodbye
softly-- and you don't have to look
back because I'm already the magnet 
on the fridge of the house
we've yet to buy together.
Sometimes I'll wear two different colored shoes
Write your name on my hand in
Crayola marker-- "goodbye, but never for now".