YOU ARE HERE

Did you think your absence

would help me forget?

You’re stitched into moments

I haven’t left yet.

This morning,

I tasted you in my coffee,

a warmth too familiar,

too soft to be just me.

Last night,

you showed up on how I fold my kain batik,

like muscle memory,

sweet and static.

And just yesterday,

you were there at the diner,

as I stacked the plates,

neat, like you’d prefer.

You’re sewn into the scenery,

threaded through my view.

Even in your silence,

I still find you.