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