Morning. Also, Mourning.

Photo: ©2020 Joanne Van Leerdam

Mornings are the hardest:
The time of day
When you’re just not there.
Silence and Emptiness loiter 
In the cold spaces 
Once filled and warmed by you,
Waiting to slap my face
And punch my grief in the guts
Just like they did yesterday
And every day before that
Since you’ve been gone. 
I will myself to stride past them, 
Full of false bravado, 
But then I crumble:
I clutch my memories to my breast
And weep.

©2020 Joanne Van Leerdam

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