When You Left
by Naomi Ayala
When you left
the afternoon of the day
you were missing from policed appearances
I shied into my flank
walked crooked through Saturday
past the woods of Sunday walk
into the smog of Monday
with its hurried crowds.
I collected tiny air globules of memory
into a magic pocket meant for rain
and soft-speaking. Like in dreams
when I see, live something I wake without
Friday came -- my heart tight
and without history.
Copyright © 2023 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.