Your face beneath my eyelids,
contorted. I remember
your words: sideways mouth,
rage erupting in whirlpools.
In the morning, all that remains
are your eyes and an empty coffeepot.
Familiar sizzle: hiss of water,
steady drip towards wakefulness.
I wonder where you are now,
two time zones ahead, stirring
in your own small bed. That photo
of you and your lover, hands
protecting your shoulders. The book
of poems you sent me. My final
glimpse of you, face half-covered
in a surgical mask, pushing it aside
between sips of beer. Why have we
allowed forty years to be trampled
underfoot? It wasn’t me,
or even you. Though I tried to listen,
my dreams offer nothing,
and consciousness only brings spite.
Leah Mueller is the author of ten prose and poetry books. She lives and writes in Bisbee, Arizona. Her new book, "The Destruction of Angels" (Anxiety Press) was published in October 2022. Leah's work appears in Rattle, NonBinary Review, Midway Journal, Citron Review, The Spectacle, Miracle Monocle, Outlook Springs, Atticus Review, Your Impossible Voice, etc. She is a 2022 nominee for both Pushcart and Best of the Net. Her flash piece, "Land of Eternal Thirst" appears in the 2022 edition of Sonder Press' "Best Small Fictions" anthology. Website: www.leahmueller.org.
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