What we Have

What we Have 

 

She was left like a teacup half full

In and out of days marked like a scratch on a favorite CD

Interrupted, never quite the same

 

Our fingers, like spider threads

Reaching and sticking and fitting

Into any space we could find

 

Checking that we knew everything

And that we never forgot

 Like a grocery list that we were afraid to leave at home

 

Like a conversation ignored

Like a phone call left eternally ringing