I miss you
so I thought,
I’ll get a fish.
So I almost bought a fish tank
but then
I changed my mind.
So I still miss you,
fish or no fish,
and my apartment still feels emptier.
But maybe “emptier” is not the right word,
it feels like it has lost something.
Like maybe,
it swallowed you whole
and you’re still somewhere inside of it
but not anywhere I can see.
I still feel you there but maybe it’s just
my hand soap
because it smells like your aftershave.
Don’t worry,
I won’t say anything, I won’t ask
you anything.
I bit my cheek crying,
thinking about your feet
and my feet,
the way you would smash my feet between
yours. Like a sandwich.
I was crying
thinking about how
the only time I ever used the word “love”
towards you
was in regards
to your feet.
I did love them, I think.
They were so soft and mine so dry.
Something about them made me feel small
like when I was a kid
and I would sleep in this small space on the floor
in-between the wall and my sister’s bed.
Something about your feet
reminded me of that square patch of carpet.
Your feet made me cry and then I thought,
I should not be crying about feet.
I should take a ceramics class or something,
feel wet clay in my hands,
sculpt nothing into something,
I thought,
I should take a ceramics class so I enrolled in a college
down the street but I never paid any of the fees.
It doesn’t matter because
I am just thinking of ways not to miss you
and I’m not sure what will be next,
maybe this poem
or a hike or tea with an old friend
or a good book or a hot bath
or painting my fingernails
or a nice nap in the sun
except naps remind me of you and
I am back to where I started,
just trying not to miss you.
I guess first,
I will try this poem.