moonstrike

[lyssarella]

dear mom,
ive forgotten how to write now
i stare and stare at the page or the screen and my mind wanders
pick the lint from my sleeve
tap my feet on the floor
roll my tongue around in my mouth looking for words
there is inspiration to be found in the world
of that i am sure
but right now i have a brain full of dried applesauce
and coffeepot eyes
he left early, mom, and i didnt feel bad at all
i watched from my window, holding the curtains back like they do in the movies
there was no fight in me when he started packing his bags
i just sat there, drank my tea, touched my toes with the tips of my fingers
is that terrible, mom?
should i have made a plea, or tried harder to convince him to stay?
it feels so good to have the quiet back though
to stretch across the bed and feel the coolness of the sheets touching only me
my mind is a piece of college ruled notebook paper torn out of a spiral ring book
worn to the texture of faded fabric from too much erasing
i feel words around, in the air, on the floor, in my pockets
but i cant contain them to a sentence that holds any beauty in it
how is the dog?
was it raining there this weekend?
i miss you,
love,
lyssa