While fixing my bed
I found one of your skunk hairs, on
my side under a pillow.
I sat there on the edge of the bed softly smiling—
the smallest parts of you. I sat there
holding the strand up to the open window
and it disappeared, because my curtains
are silky white.
Its ends floated
between my thumb and index finger as if
it were waving to me—gently gliding just like
the ends of your hair would be
when they drifted over my cheeks, nose and forehead.
But this bed hasn’t seen you on its pillows
for a year now—today—this morning.
-sonja lynn mata
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