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?
Freedom of speech is important
but this is not something I want to read. Not here. Not now.
Why did the author choose
To spark questions about what
makes him miss her?
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
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.
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,
See Brian Henry’s schedule here, including online and in-person writing workshops, weekly writing classes,
and weekend retreats in Algonquin Park, Alliston, Bolton, Barrie, Brampton,
Burlington, Caledon, Collingwood, Georgetown, Georgina, Guelph, Hamilton,
Jackson’s Point, Kingston, Kitchener-Waterloo, London, Midland, Mississauga,
Oakville, Ottawa, Peterborough, St. Catharines, Southampton, Sudbury, Toronto,
Windsor, Woodstock, Halton, Muskoka, Peel, Simcoe, York Region, the GTA,
Ontario and beyond.
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