365 Poems/207 Missing You (Rough First Draft)

Missing You

I don’t like the way you leave,

back straight, hands tight on

the straps of your bulging rucksack.


I know you’re never coming back,

and I’m already suffering

from your absence.


I pick at pears in Tesco, testing,

checking to see if they’re  supple

or solid. I go for the solid ones,

so I don’t need to interact

with couples again so soon.


I eat to keep my heart strong.

Without food, it would grow bone

dry, and shatter. I miss your crackle

glass eyes, strong back and forearms.


I coast the darkness every evening.

Wait, at the window for an hour,

before closing the curtains.


My sister says go back to Iceland

or Norway or  fucking Finland,

or wherever it was you were happiest.


And I go on the Ryanair website,

and calculate just how much

it would cost to get to where

my heart knows how to speak.


But I close it all down quickly,

and navigate the hinge on

the window to let in the cold.


The sky is immaculate.

Stars hum and I lap air.


Underneath the duvet,

on smooth sheets, I trace

memories, and miss you.