Since You Went (Day 506)

Beyond the curtain, 

where the deer graze 

(I am here, and you 

are there), the subtle 

snap of breaking twigs 

and careful rustlings, 

saves the forest (thick 

with vines) from utter 

silence.

Where your voice 

sang, slightly out of tune,

sometimes whistling or 

slurring over some

forgotten words, only 

dead music plays 

on the stereo in the other 

room, but I keep it on for 

company, since you went 

away. 

And, on the shelves,

those books 

you read, into the wee 

small hours.

You never knew I smiled 

when you laughed aloud 

at some surprising joke,

tensed when 

your breath quickened 

during a suspenseful 

scene, or saw you 

dry your eyes when 

someone you loved

died.

Your light kept me 

awake some nights, 

but I did not 

complain. There were 

other rooms, and chairs, 

and lamps you would 

have used. Instead, I 

indulged in your 

dream-distant company, 

always preferable 

to being left behind

(like this) in bed 

alone.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image via Imgur

Dedicated to Anthony Bourdain, 

whom I never met, but (like millions 

of his other fans) somehow felt I knew.

He scattered joy.