Breadcrumb #685

ANNA GENEVIEVE WINHAM

I stand next to him, like I always do,
ask if he wants to be alone, return to the car
and watch him miss her, feeling broken too. 

A flickering screen’s crackling voice does not imbue
the bubbly cuddles she’d give if she weren’t far.
I stand next to him. Like I always do

I say something nice, lighten the load, or try to,
but it’s not right. There she is. Here we are, 
and watch: he misses her. Feeling broken, to

rush time we find night too soon. He knew
her absence would scab each day a scar.
I stand, next, to him. Like I, all ways do

return to ruminations on this glue
which binds them, seals a door once left ajar.
And watch him miss her! Feeling broke in two

I know I have to go, but linger through
another moon, another turn around the star:
I stand, “next!” to him, like I always do, 
and watch him miss her feeling broken too.

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