I could write a poem that
no one could tell was for you,
or for anyone.
It would be about the photographs,
the ones that disappeared
from the blue wall;
that you spent an hour
carefully arranging-- pasting.
Making sure that the collage
captured your favorite moment
dressed in black
hand in hand with your 4 best friends
looking into the bright lights
that illuminated your final dance
The bed, untouched except by cats.
The closet, half full--
my clothes, disorganized, creeping into
the empty space;
the book shelf, half empty--
littered with
old school assignments, receipts,
a couple books laying on their sides
and the picture frame
that holds an image;
me and you
in the miniature red car,
your arms wrapped around me.
Laughing
a toothless smile
Our matching outfits.
Those purple and yellow sunglasses--
too small for your head.
It would be about
the picture you sent me
the one of you
and your new room mate;
The text reading "you called?"
A car, the old little green one
sitting in the driveway;
The nights quieter-- the clocks slower;
about the leaves, changing color;
A door bell ringing
The little gold door nob turning
A face that warms the cold intrusive breeze.