Afterwards

A poem describing loss

I can tell you exactly what the blinds
looked like: white rough texture with
a pull down rod running through the bottom.
They are down now but I stare out as
though they are not.

I can tell you more: he left and now
I stand in the middle of the room. It’s dark
but for the lip of light seeping in through the
inch of space between the stone sill and the
drawn blinds I stare out.

A sprawling mess stretches on the desk by
my bed and the next day I cleaned it up after
I watered the plant living by the sill. You see
you just do that
you move on
you count time
you clean your desk
and water your plant.

I can’t tell you about going to bed, I don’t
remember going. I do remember standing for some
time then drawing the blinds up. I assume I fell
asleep next because the following morning I woke up
and it was bright.