A prompt from deepwildcoaching:
“How do we give language to something that is no longer there? Absence is not always empty. Sometimes, it has a scent, a texture, a sound…Write a poem about absence without using the word ‘missing’.”
Orphaned of love,
you stand vulnerable of everything
that crafted you of yourself,
waiting to feel something
other than empty.
You are a ghost,
haunting corridors
you once called home.
When familiar voices call,
they tell you
your voice is as thin as
spider webs
and as hollow as
phantasmagoric memories.
You no longer answer those calls.
You no longer explain yourself
to those who don’t understand
the sensation
when you wear his favorite sweater, fabric fraying, loose-fitting,
to put an end to loneliness;
the feeling that comes
when you drink her favorite chai
so you can remember
the taste of autumn,
even when it is January
all the time;
the feeling that comes
when you are willing
to do
whatever it takes
to stop haunting
your own life
with the emptiness,
with the memories
of those who won’t —
those who can’t —
return.
It feels like death
every day,
these goodbyes
that run along your mouth
like mini serrations.
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