by Chrys Walter
after night, in gray and loud
morning, i pray for phantoms — finger
and hand where you touched me — but we
know that was months ago, and the
mirror is my reminder: naked, im-
patient, -perfect. you never slept
long enough to see me rise and put
on the normal face.
the truck alarm sounds as it
backs into the bay. a man screams
at no one. at work they will do
what i tell them but i miss home,
and the command of your love.
Chrys Walter lives in St. Louis.