a poem for those left about those who leave

there are some times when your empty is
very much there.
more and more lately.
it’s like when a little kid can’t stop poking
their tongue in the hole where a tooth was.
i feel this with your empty.
things that have simply been for a long time leave
a more present kind of absence.
a scene: your empty knocks on my door,
rapping smartly so i am reminded to hear it.
i let it in.
(but i check the window to make sure I know it.
I do.)
it wipes its feet and makes itself at home.
it looks me in the eyes
and i look away
and it demands forgiveness.
and i give it
and i apologize for taking so long.
a familiar dance around.
we sit among our loud silences and notice
the time
it taps its foot.
i cough.
we wait.

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