When you’re not here we
skip dinner, fall asleep with
the TV still on.
Absence
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When you’re not here we
skip dinner, fall asleep with
the TV still on.
We’ve shut the windows.
Pulled out sweaters, pulled on socks.
A fall admission.
Undereye circles
purple as grapes, lids heavy
as harvest-ripe vines.
Again you’re staying
up late. God forbid you should
worry about me.
Too few syllables
to write about Blogs We Luv.
Click through and visit.
I was first published
in Seventeen magazine
thirty years ago.
I’m unsure whether
joy or terror will greet the
news that I am live.
Cold rain heralded
her return. Killing frost trails
her, biding his time.
Contentment is the
sound of a dog on a couch,
snoring with gusto
Opportunity
is knocking. Finally, I
will open the door.