When They Ask Me If I Miss You: A Poem for Kate

What annoys you the most about living with me

Is my tendency to leave doors

Drawers

Cabinets

and pantries

wide open.

I’ve never been good at closing things.

I leave them open,

and I leave them on.

Just in case.

 

Since the sweltering May day that we moved in together,

I have asked you every evening

If you want me to make enough coffee in the morning

for two.

Every evening since that day,

until 2 months ago,

you said no.

You’ve never been much of a coffee drinker.

I make a cup and a half extra,

anyway.

 

The best part about Chicago

is that I have never know it devoid of you.

Grey eyes creased into laughter

Illuminated by a foreign place we called ours

 

There isn’t an angle of the skyline

I haven’t seen without you next to me

A street corner I don’t associate with a song

That I don’t associate with you

Or a second

That the Brown Line thunders outside of

The window that used to be ours

My window

That I don’t think of you

Jogging

To catch every weekday morning.

 

When they ask me if I miss you,

It wouldn’t make sense to explain the way

Turning off the coffee maker

On the way out of the door

Makes me feel.

Foreign

Clumsy

A pen that is too heavy

An apartment too quiet

 

When they ask me if I miss you,

It wouldn’t make sense

To explain the warm summer air

That carries the heavy scent of chocolate

Downtown

For months we thought

our neighbors were making brownies.

 

When they ask me if I miss you,

I stop worrying about things that may

Or may not

Make sense

 

So when they ask me if I miss you,

I just say yes.

 

Photo courtesy of Felipe Lima, Flickr Creative Commons

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