icouldneverquite
get you down on
paper. iknewyour
favorite band and
favoritemovie and
what you sounded
like when you slept
but ididnotknow how
to put the thumping of
yourheart againstthe rain
or the gravel of your voice
echoing in that soft spot right
below my ear into words. there
were gold ribbons streaming
from your hands always
always (weren't  there)
at least i think there were.
i only painted your outline once
in orange on a piece of cardboard
but it didn't fill my apartment the
way your laugh did so i covered
it with yellow rosebuds and
threw it in the dumpster
on my way to work.

today i touched
trees and smelled
leaves and took
a nap with my
dog and my mom
told me, "meg,
you're going to
be just fine."

what
do  you
do     now
that    i    am
not                 a
part                    of
your                       life
do                          your
hands                    feel
the                 same
do             your
hands   feel
the  same