By Laura Izabela
Now that you’re gone, days
Are erased rather than spent. Withdraw
All my grief. I have grown into a numb minded house —
Wife without a house or a husband, a horse, or
Anything really to keep trying for. No milk
Or honey in this fridge, rather a polished
Ditch in my stomach. These days,
I count hours by sighs and my muffled
Hysterias, spend time
Like drunken money, and leave forever
With the sea. These nights, I don’t long
For mornings, hours pass through
Me like running rivers, and sunrises no longer
Linger. In my heart
Seasons change but still, I find myself
Changing highways from one
To another to avoid you like
Flaming trash cans—I have lost
All direction, following swans to their
Nests instead where I call home. Sometimes I hear
Your name spoken softly in a foreign tongue far away
But all that comes, instead of you, is another night
And all that’s left to hold is the cruel, glacial moon.
There is only shadow now where once was song.
Here, where the stars keep on falling.
Here, where your love still shields my head
From stardust and the snow.