Ten Months Later

It begins so cold,
so professional in tone
as if to hide the intimacy we shared,
restless in its shallow grave.

Buried, yes, but far from dead-
I can feel it rising up
with ease through my resistance.
I remember everything about your voice.

There are certain things we talk about
and certain things
we can't, or don't.

Again and again
I am amazed and afraid
by how well we know-
and will always know-
each other.

I listen and I think about
all that we are missing
in each other's lives.

Helpless now,
I fill my phone with tears.

by Harley Woodhouse