• Flux Magazine

Poem by Megan Tripp

How could I not grieve for you?

Though you still walk the earth, 

Your comings and goings are not for me to know


I see you always

In my street

In my home

In my dreams

I miss your fingertips, soft on my shoulders

The sound of your breath behind me

Hushed like a child

That your arm would rest against my waist

And your fingertips weave together with mine

That we would be one again

As we speak with our silence

And drift off to sleep

I trust you

Your phantom followed me on Monday

It laughed at my jokes

It matched my strides

Entered each room when I felt most alone

It told me your stories 

And almost brought me joy

But each time I relented

My laughter blew it away

Fizzing and dissolving

Soap in the bath

And though i’m gifted with your presence

It is no longer gentle

Your features move my bike like an ocean

Your mannerisms make me flinch

The you I miss

No longer exists

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