Recurrence

Root - 101 words

Sarah Van Name

In the potato-sack weight of your absence, I still catch the scent of your laundry detergent or shampoo. I am reduced. Time adjusts the atoms around me like a dutiful matron to account for the sleeping breaths of one.

This sadness comes back over and over, a different creature each time, like sickness or clouds. Tomorrow I will set it aside and turn away, look away, turn my back. Tonight, I press myself into the ground, as if I could reach my hands like roots into the core of the earth and touch that iron crystal, old and lonely – real sorrow.

Comes and Goes (In Waves) - Greg Laswell