I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I can hear your ghost in the kitchen
washing the same dish 6 times because
you won’t be able to sleep with ketchup
staining your second favorite dish in the
cupboard.

You told me that if you were a tree you
would want to be a maple, because in
Autumn they leave red finger prints on
sidewalks like ****** clues left behind
at the scene of the crime.

I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I see your ghost sitting on top of
the cushioned window seat so you can
count the rain droplets running across
the glass outside, one finger tracing a
path or water and one finger twisting
your hair again and again.

I told you that if I was a tree I would be
a willow, my arms reaching down to the
ground you stood on, roots reaching out
for the sidewalks you walked on, trunk
reaching up to the clouds you loved
more than you loved me.

I hate leaving home on days like these:
when I am a willow constantly weeping.