
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
Anymore
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