GONE
By Alanna McIntyre

I conjure you from the depths
of mirrored water where we
once skinny-dipped before
we did what we were told:
come inside before you
catch your death.

But my remembrance does not
approach the original and I am
not satisfied with the imitation.

Mostly I try not to think
about it. But you know
how that goes.

In the evening I hope for
the tapping of your shoes
down the hall but I hear only
the whir of the air conditioner
and the occasional revving
engine as it drives past.

It is so hard to live
with all these people who
do not mourn the hole where
you used to grow.

Alanna McIntyre is a poet from Parkersburg, West Virginia. She doesn’t like how people talk about where she’s from. This is her first complaint.

Image by Ernest_Roy from Pixabay.