ECHOES IN THE QUIET

 

Echoes in the Quiet

The door clicks shut,

bolted tight—

at last, a gasp of air.

I’ve been clutching this mask,

a brittle shell of calm,

cracked and obvious,

though they all nod along,

blind to the seams.

It’s the same old ache,

your shadow gone—

I sprawl across the bed,

tangled in rumpled sheets,

cradling the ashtray

like it’s all I’m worth

(and maybe it is, without you).

I was never whole,

not even simple math,

now split jagged—

mind, chest, bones—

too many pieces to count.

Your absence gnaws,

this hollow stretch,

each morning a question

I can’t answer.

How do I grin

when she’s vanished,

taking me

with her?