Poem — 4 May 2020

by Ann Dagan

When She Goes Away I wake alone. It’s quiet. She’s gone again.

I move through the days quietly, carefully, doing what needs done, filling the time. Watching, waiting for a sign she’s returned.

Each day she is gone is harder than the last. Each day she is gone adds a day to the journey back.

At night I sleep in fits, awakened by every sound, and no sound at all.

Now and then, her ghost appears. I catch a glimpse here and there, but it’s not her.

I leave offerings- a glass of water, a bowl of soup. They go untouched.

The vodka bottle is nearly empty. She’ll be back soon.

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