Bedside

Sun streams through white curtains
hidden beneath the white down cover
a permanent dent
without movement.
In the bed, where we slept
from where he once lay
white egyptian cotton sheets
feel like 1,000 needles
instead of softness.
 
 
The clock flashes
a red 12.
He took everything
except-
the picture
filled with alleged happiness
with the ring,
that didn’t fit.
 
 
I lay there
frozen.
I couldn’t leave,
the place,
of lost lovers.
 
~Elyse Sawka

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