I dream from the corners of sadness in my heart
a place where you are and I am,
but I’m sitting at the back of the auditorium
and you at the front.

I can’t tell what you’re thinking
as you stand up and say “I do”
to her.

wake up to this

These mornings are tangled with
the scent of your suit jacket around my shoulders,
images of the shy curve of your lips, and
the sound of your deep laughter.

Quiet smiles follow me throughout the day,
hiding in the shadows and appearing when I least expect them.
I’ve tried to shake you from my thoughts,
but you’ve stapled yourself to the pages of my days.

And these nights end with my raised palms,
asking Allah to bless me
with a life full of the tenderness in you.

folding

I am folding shirts
how he showed me; pressing the sleeves back first.
Here we have regular cotton shirts,
brown and faded navy blue.
Soft to the touch, draped over bare shoulders.

My hands shake with disappointment
as I fold. I wanted to make them perfect,
but my folding is lopsided
and awkward.

I found him in those shirts;
the scent of ambition imbued in tender fabrics.
But they must be returned, and I am as well
returned to God with the same empty palms I was born with.

home

Silence greets us
walking through the door.

The clutter in my heart
is superimposed by the
upheaval of your departure.

I sit on the sidelines of my life,
my legs crossed at the ankles and
head tilted to one side.
My fingers are crossed, not for luck,
but because I have nothing else to hold
and so I hold myself in my palms.

If I was to let go and allow my hands
to lay limply at my sides, I fear I would
go everywhere at once.
The molecules that make up this skin
would escape and scatter like a man’s ashes
poured over the river’s torrent.

I am a non-participant. This is like
a clip out of a slow movie; I sit
in the bleachers and do nothing.
My feet rest on the red gravel path
and I think, perhaps I will take a run around
the track as I wait for the game to end.