She left some of her belongings here,
mostly clothes, a sock, scarves, and sweaters;
Her scent’s on them, like she’s near.
I’m sitting on the floor,
a usps box in hand, there’s her letter,
and photographs; hiding behind the closet door.
Maybe I’ll just leave them for another day,
“I’ll throw it out tomorrow,” I murmur,
I wonder if that’s what she would say.
Ah, I have plenty to focus on,
looking back just makes one saltier,
another night, a new day’s dawn.