First Anniversary Outside my window, the you-you-you of mourning doves and I wake, bewildered. The redwoods hold each other up below the soil, intertwined. On your side of the bed I’ve spread a felled tree’s worth of poetry. The mulch of memory. Your stopped breath still saturates my lungs. In the night, the moans that startle me are my own. Each room where you are not, your things imprinted with your touch, I gather into piles to give away or toss. I carry that spark my heartwood. Where do our high-voltage fingers find each other in the dark? LauraWords2020-06-11T13:48:21+10:00June 11th, 2020|Afterglow|0 Comments Share This Story – Choose Your Platform FacebookTwitterLinkedInWhatsAppPinterestEmail Leave A Comment Cancel replyYou must be logged in to post a comment.