The small smiles everybody wanted to try to figure out – they meant nothing, really. She wasn’t so good at talking and the smiles made up for it. They filled the spaces in which she ought to have answers for things…
Thinking of you like the bug bites on my legs.
Tomorrow we are supposed to turn back the clocks.
Maybe I will pretend that I haven’t loved you
and the extra hour of sleep is my reward for attempting.
I order pancakes at that diner we loved every Sunday,
try not to look for you. Living alone has its perks,
I guess. The cat gets fed. The plants are watered.
But I do not always eat dinner. I do not vacuum regularly.
Sometimes I live off of a handful of cherries,
practice tying the stems with my tongue for hours.
I leave love letters for my mailman, who’s married.
All those times we saw each other undress.
Your mother still calls and asks where you are.
I tell her nowhere but what I mean is everywhere.