(January 7,1988 - September 17,2078 / Columbus, OH)

Folded Blanket

He folds our blanket
and throws it in his truck
heading for the east coast.

Told me to get off
and I didn't mind
because I wanted to leave anyway.

And words left unsaid
still dance between rooftops
and cascade through my hair.

Bleach and scissors
won't get these memories
out from my soft tangles.

Whisps of your scent
still manage to find me
wherever I walk.

Unanswered questions
written on my tanned arms
glistening with summer sweat.

Left to find my own way
in an indecisive explosion.
I falter to my next position.

Vacuum in one hand
medical gloves in the other
work is what occupies my time now.

I didn't cry
until I missed you
long after you were already gone
for good.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

I can hear the longing sadness of regret in your beautifully expressed poem Erica. Summer should be such a warm time, but sometimes it just isn't. Love the title, could do with a blanket myself, Tai