While fixing my bed
I found one of your skunk like hairs, on
my side under a pillow.
I sat there on the edge of the bed softly smiling—
you’ve since had a haircut. 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
they would be, when they drifted
over my cheek, nose, and cheek.
But this bed hasn’t seen you on its pillows
for a year now—today—this morning.
-sonja lynn mata
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