Relief is not a word I seek, what it feels like to know she
won't be here, giving up seeing herself as unworthy, the bringer of bad luck,
only she doesn't say for whom, the empty feeling I feel inside is not relief,
maybe grief, the vacancy, the loss, the wish things here had gone differently,
when knowing they never could, I read the poem she posted the way I might on
newspaper notice, making official something I felt for weeks, an out of
sortedness I could not previously explain, like a sprain I got but not how I
got it, too tender to touch, I ought to feel relieved, the angel of death
having passed by my door, the empty space of where she worked, looking over me
instead, still her residence until the final verdict, the two week notice and
then nothing, not even the dread of that once a week encounters, filled with
mixed feelings, a lost opportunity now soon lost forever, not relief just grief
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