Your excruciating memory has settled
into my knees
generating a stiffness
that prevents brisk morning walks.
I hobble into the kitchen,
refusing to give in
to the pain,
refusing to set down
before the coffee is brewed
and last night's chores
are finished.
It is the grating and burning--
as I carefully lower myself into a chair--
that reminds me
of the winter morning
I woke up
to find you gone,
without so much as a good-bye.
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