- Libbie
Shade
What is constant now:
memory, the world
as I knew it
like a shade in some
forgotten corner.
The noise of the bar
when I stood
behind your chair
and looked down.
There was one gray hair
you never knew you had,
and the arc of its curve
was a hook inside me.
What is constant now:
The silence without company,
heat and stillness of afternoon,
the nothing going nowhere,
and you, bright ghost,
a voice without a presence
on the line,
in my throat,
in my head.
Libbie Grant, Sep 3, 2020