"Absence" Published by Four Chambers Press

The night you went away

my sister climbed into your closet

and pushed your clothes against her face.

She doesn't want to talk about it.


A month later she asks me how long human scent

can be collected in fabric.

She found you at the bottom of a hat yesterday.

"There he is." She said.

"Hi baby."


The last time I tried to escape from my body

I tumbled back down into a hangover

and a cup of cold black coffee.

These days,

I'm surprised at how lazy I am.


We see you in the form of a humming bird

or a song or a good good joke and that's nice and everything

but it's not the same.


This grief has held me captive.

Bound, gagged, and tied

the worst part is I find no desire to escape

like a little girl

fallen in love with her kidnapper.


Our bodies are all we have left.

Every morning my mom and sister wake up and paint watercolor flowers.

We speak of death

like it is an irrational number.

We only know what it was by the hole that it left.