I cleaned out your room.
I spread my arms around your clothes,
My face in your closet, I inhaled you,
I lingered there, first thing in the morning
I came to you, I had to open the door, the
Elephant in the flat, I needed to know what
Was there instead of what wasn’t.
My face on your pillow. My body on your bed.
The air that I let in. The cat on your backpack.
Staring at me. Where is he. I sit here. Where is he.
I look at your mints. I look at your plants.
I don’t know how much water they need.
I greet you in the morning, first thing.
I walk into that room. I light candles for you.
I put my fingertips on your face, the photos on the wall.
I’m afraid of the dark.
I misinterpret the dark.
I feel your fear. My mind makes me go there.
Where it hurts the most. Things I never wanted to imagine.
I’m walking through them on repeat.
Toxins in my body. You left your teacher’s bag on the bridge.
And you were no more.
I asked her to bring me that bag.
I touched it, slowly, carefully,
Bit by bit, your companion that morning,
When you were running late,
When I had no idea what was happening,
What you were about to do.
That grief would besiege me in a heartbeat.
I looked inside of the bag,
Burning on the inside, longing for you,
Aching, your name, all there is, and I
Took that bag with me, I brought it here,
I benedicted it, no darkness, no fear comes close to it.
I cleaned out your room and I’m wearing your clothes.
I feel you on my skin and it heals.
I open the door, the white door, and know what’s there
And what I keep.