by Bill Yarrow
People who lose a leg to a battle
or disease often describe the feeling
of having a phantom appendage,
experiencing the sensation
of still feeling the absent limb.
When I lost you, I lost a piece
of myself. I haven't felt whole
since that day. It's not that I can't
go on; I can. It's not that I can't
think straight; I can. It's not that
I can't focus; I can. It's that the
future is now incomplete. It's
that with your radical vanishing,
the dignity of infinity is diminished.
All rights reserved.
This poem appeared in A-Minor on September 26, 2011.
Thank you, Nicolette Wong.
This poem appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX 2012).