Absences

Table set for breakfast; one spoon, one knife.

No more melon. Too many quadrants.

No hummingbird seen since….

Large space on the white paper.

No singalong heard with the Irish group.

I wake up holding the pillow.

Hard candies still in the bowl.

Still-life of eggshell and empty cup.

Far less trash.

Cancelled appointments.

Glue sticks and scissors found everywhere.

Wallace Stevens waits. Your bookmark.

The poem I didn’t write for our anniversary.

Opening a book with your underlining. Why this paragraph?

Your pink eraser.

Those days I squandered.

Too much space in the closet.

Old cards saved, what did you mean by that last line?