BookRix

THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY

I still count the days since you have been gone.
Look across the room, see your face
for a moment, before it melts like so much
frost on a warm window pane.
I feel your fingers curled around mine,
but when I open my hand,
it’s nothing but empty air.
My hand slides across the bed,
searching for your warmth,
but I only find cold sheets.
Your boots stand empty on the porch.
For a second, you fill them,
smile at me before
you disappear, mist in the wind.
The door opens.
I think it’s you.
When I get up, no one is there.
I look into the spaces you left behind.
The shelf that held your hats
is barren as a windswept shore.
Your idle tools gather dust.
Weeds grow wild
without your hand to tame them.
The dogs have claimed your spot on the couch.
I still count the days since you have been gone

- Delaine Certo
Menifee, CA
January 9, 2019

I hope to see some of you poetry or stories. Welcome!