November 29 Poem

Sometimes I try to remember

what her body felt like lying

next to me in bed, or how

her voice sounded when we

were alone and she spoke softly.

I try to remember what she looked

like when she was happy,

and the smells that came from the kitchen.

You’d think these memories

would come easily—

just take them down from the

shelf like old familiar, loved books,

and browse through them with a smile,

but they’re lost now and I cannot

find them. I’ve searched everywhere

but they have simply vanished,

and I am left trying to imagine

what she was like in that

time before the sky fell upon us.

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