[ poetry - december 08 ]
First I thought it was hide and seek, but
at six-hundred and three I stopped counting on you.
In this first silence I realised
show-off is better than no-show.
I sought you on your favourite seat,
the bough-sheltered bench in the park.
I usurped you, and the rain spotted me
for it. I thrust my face
skywards, so that when the leaves could no longer
bear the weight
of water, and their spines severed at the neck,
they kissed my cheeks,
and made them damper.
I dampened other leaves in my fruitless foray
through your files for some note of relief,
even a post-it. I searched the cellar
garden garage toilet wardrobe - I pressed
my hands against the back.
Whorl on whorl, the wood withstood.
I couldn't stand it.
And yes, I checked the bed,
I searched the sheets for paper,
demanded your pillow talk.