“I miss her” by Lisa Reynolds

Every day she is on my mind. I miss her but I deal with my emotions in private.

Yet now the very words I’m thinking are plastered in white paint on a brick wall.

What do I do? Pretend I don’t see them?

I MISS HER.

Freedom of speech is important but this is not something I want to read. Not here. Not now.

Why did the author choose this wall?

What was his intent?

To spark questions about what makes him miss her?

Was it her smile?

The way she’d laugh at his not so funny jokes?

The way she’d beat him at cards but still claimed she was no good?

Maybe it was the way her hands would stroke their dog, her long fingers sliding through its fur.

I miss her. I miss her. I miss her!

My therapist says it’s healthy to express feelings. I wonder if this is what he means.

When I think of my daughter, I miss her.

I feel the loss even though her memory is strong.

The way she’d say “up” when she wanted to cuddle.

The way she’d run through our house, her arms straight back like Superwoman in flight.

I wish I could shake a can, pop the lid, press the nozzle, and have a stream of glitter wrap itself around her waist so I could pull her back to me.

I MISS HER.

Now that I’ve shared these words, what do I do to ease the pain they bring?

Lisa Reynolds is a Canadian writer of poetry and short stories. Her creative works focus on love, loss, and survival. She is published internationally in print and online publications. She lives in a waterfront community east of Toronto, Ontario.

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