The fury of last night’s storm
left sodden confetti on the
sidewalk, and the birds
timidly peeping in the morning
calm. I cleaned out my
closet – the part that was
yours – by candlelight, and
I scattered your memory
like ashes in the wind.
I thought about the night
we danced in the rain and
giggled like children out past
curfew. And I thought
about the arguments about
dishes in the sink. I flipped
through the memories like
pages in a magazine, only
stopping at the most colorful
images.
I remember the smell of
your neck and the heat of
your hands, but your face
has been swept away like
sand from the boardwalk.
As the sun climbs higher,
the birds grow brave and
begin to sing again.
