Empty Nest

There’s been a chill in my bones since you walked away.

It follows me,

no matter how many layers I hide under.

No matter how many walls I build.

Mornings waking in a bare bed and the windows are frosted

with the breath of the ghost who once lived here.

Hands wrapped around a steaming mug

and you’re the blue in my fingers.

Rearranging the furniture in an unfurnished room.

There’s a draught under the door

since you last walked through it.

The winter-stripped maple dropped the last of it’s leaves.

I stretch out my barren limbs,

willing you home,

but the nest remains empty.

~~ June Briar Kelsey

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