On my first day without you,
I’ll wash my face with ice water.
Grab my coloring chalks and paint
a woman dressed in red coming out
of church. She’ll be staring into a blue sky
with a blank face as the exit walls tremble.
Her womb swollen, and you speechless
and unhappy beside her looking for me,
eyes begging for absolution.
But here I am to remind you,
as the earth quakes beneath my feet,
absence makes the mind forget.