pictures of us
the poetry books
all his clothes
the ties off the hooks

I have burned
the soles of my feet
pacing the floors
the sauce on the stove
letters in drawers

I have burned
a hole in the carpet
from an unlit cigarette
like the one in my nightie
waking up in cold sweat

I have burned
the palm of my hand
spilling the tea
but I cannot burn
this haunting memory