WHEN I TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE AT NIGHT
When I take out the garbage at night
I’m not with you then, exactly.
I’m with the universe
and with the lightning and thunder coming in over the mountains
but when I walk back into the house
looking up at the window from the back step,
the dark window of the room that you died in
the big empty room on the second floor
cold because I won’t close the window
just in case something still needs to leave.
I stand in the yard and look up
and the dark rectangle blares your face,
all of our moments condensed into a thunder clap.
When I take out the garbage at night and then have to go back in and live on.
all rights reserved