A Week

It has been a week since she rose
From her bed to say goodbye. Still
Half asleep, she held me briefly,
Put her lips to mine, then smiled weakly.
I picked up my bag, but didn't go
Until she'd left the hallway. Now, she
Isn't next to me. I cannot hear her
Laugh or smell her hair or see her
Melt whenever she encounters dogs
Or kids. I'm Sisyphus. I'm sick
Of rocks and staring at the stony
Ground. I look up only late at night
When I blow her, now gone a week,
A goodnight kiss.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 140 times
Written on 2019-08-27 at 17:28

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