The Two

When I opened my eyes this morning, you were in a chair watching me, and I asked, “ How did you get in?” 

You said “The side door." Of course, Detective,

thats how you came into my life, the door I hadn’t locked. 

And you were here, and so was he, in the living room, meeting for the first time. You both knew of each other. Awkward. But you were getting along.

Of course, I knew you would. So many things similar, so much in common.

I left to do business in a bleached white hotel, while both of you waited at home for me to return.  Both of you waited. Because I run off like that to strange places, my priorities in selfish containers. 

I leaned into him on one side, and held your hand on the other. My ring finger could feel where the promise used to be. 

Then your seat was suddenly empty. I thought maybe I should try to text you.

A finely transparent feather was found on my front porch yesterday. 

Light came through it as I held it up to the blue sky by it’s quill. 

And I cry a little, now that I am fully awake.