Dawn Lanuza

The world remembers

What we try to forget

It’s in the embers

Of the things we left

It’s in the concrete,

The streets we used to tread

In the halls we used to meet

When we had hours to spend

It’s in the book you carried home

In this umbrella we shared

It’s in the stars you wished on

In your skin, your palms,

Your fingers: playing with my hair

It’s in your unmade bed

The wrinkle, the weight

It’s in the distance to the door I travelled

In the silence, partings unsaid

“She could take care of herself,”

doesn’t mean she didn’t need someone else to do it.