The Queen is Gasping

Nicole gives a poem of memory, loss, and something else.

Nicole Lyons


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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