A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
Weary, I empty the dryer, smooth wrinkles from his clothes. Work shirts stained with oil paint rest neat in the suitcase next to his jeans. In the bathroom, I pack his toothbrush, his toothpaste, razor, and deodorant. I give up his flannel I sleep in, stash framed photos in a drawer. When I try to close the holes in my home, the half-empty closet and medicine chest, they won’t fill up, they’re gravity pulling me into emptiness. Now, I long for one of those shirts, his scent of sweat and paint, to cover the dent on his side of the bed, so, when I roll over, I don’t fall into the future.
Copyright 2019 Lindsey Royce. From Play Me a Revolution by Lindsey Royce published by Press 53.