missing

wake up, grab the soap,
shower, make coffee,
drive into work,
stay there, drive home.

realize the soap is dial,
remember she liked dove.
notice the coffee is black,
think of her love for creamer.

listen to NPR on the way in,
and how she'd blare her music.
pass that French restaurant,
she made me try that I loved.

get home and sit on the couch,
in one of two over-used cushions,
before retiring to my bedroom,
where I have one too many pillows.

my shadow

i first saw my shadow
when i was 10.
my mom went to the store,
and didn't come back.

it hung around from there,
in the corner of my room
most days, watching
as i sat on my bed, alone.

it disappeared during the day,
in the sunlight, as shadows
are wont to do,
but returned every night.

i battled and kept it at bay
as long as i possibly could,
even as it became a cloak
that wholly enveloped my soul.

i became the living host
of a terrible, terrible thing,
and knew the only way out
was to take away its source.