by ABBIE JOHNSON TAYLOR
In the morning,
I kiss the sheets and pillowcases and his towel,
drinking in his scent,
before stuffing them into the laundry bag.
When I eat breakfast,
I wish he were there,
dropping Chereo crumbs on the carpet,
talking to me
and occasionally taking my hand
or kissing me.
All through the day,
I wish he were with me
to encourage and support me,
to rub aching muscles from time to time,
to take me in his arms and kiss me
when I least expect it.
In the evening,
as I do the dishes,
I wish he were doing that chore instead
while I read him the paper.
Later, as I sit with my feet up,
reading a good book,
I wish he were sitting opposite me,
doing the same.
As I drift off to sleep,
I wish he were next to me
with his arms around me.
One day, we will be together for good
but until then,
all I have is the memory of him.