the Meters

You wake in a blissful daze, dawn spreading across the grassy fields like an expectant lover, running their fingertips over your clavicle. If I didn't think too hard about it, I could still feel his breath in my ear, could remember his weight against the small of my back, a brief linger in a hallway. There's a bruise where your hand used to be. 

The country is serene, the nights' silence punctured only by the rampant spring stream past the fence. I pick tender rhubarb fledglings, spend my days making pies, cooking, watering the plants, writing a few words. We walk along the side of the mountain and discuss life's questions like they are no longer impossible to answer, if only you don't look directly at them. One foot in front of the other, say yes now, and cross that bridge when you get there. She laughs into the sunset. You think of the piercing blue of his eyes and wonder what yes looks like on this side of the tracks. 

you make a note
to find out.