Nicole gives a poem of memory, loss, and something else.
I no longer speak your name
but my walk is still tall
and quite jagged from the love
you left inside of me.
I drag my feet
with the weight of it
sloshing in the pit of my belly
when I stroll through
the market searching for
that old farmer and his melons,
the ones we ate under
the bridge all of those times,
but I thumb my pockets
and fiddle with the seams
when I come up empty-handed,
but for the clear eyes
and crooked smile that
graces my lucky penny,
and I laugh knowing
the queen is gasping
when I put her back
in my pocket again.
© Nicole Lyons 2017
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