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.