by Peter Kougias
I never meant it to fall through the cracks
in the floorboards that built
I unlock the front door
when the sun goes down.
Dinner served on your grandmother’s china,
my efforts swirlin’ down the sink.
The box flashes black & white…in dismay.
Crawling under our covers
the light stays on, so
you won’t trip on the night stand… again
Up before dawn,
gulping from the bathroom tap;
your side still neatly tucked.
Bedtime shivers win.
Morning comes. You haven’t.
Your breakfast. Just concern for me.
(Your face not on the news (yet), thankfully.)
24 hours spun a week’s time
to spring a month’s pay
to foreclose a year sighted journey.
I wake. I work. I shower. I eat.
I break. I work. I read. I sleep.
Wake. Work. Shower. Eat.
Break. Work. Read. Sleep.
I wake. I skim. I eat.
A sign… anything.
I dream your thoughts.
and Imagine you coming back…
But the driveway ends at the road,
while it travels and speeds down my heart.