R.S. Croix — Letters For Someone

She rearranged the table

until everything looked deliberate.

As if order

could stand in

for what was missing.

even when the relationship did not.

I write their absence.

is refusing to correct

what turns truth into denial.

Bread.

Feeding the body

before feeding memory.

Cold words wait.

They endure seasons without asking to be remembered.

It is the moment separation loses meaning.

She didn’t explain.

He didn’t hesitate.

Something was denied,

but she never required permission.

for my body

to stop being a question.

Silence sees me, hears me,

and disarms me.

A sunlit balcony.

My eyes catch you beside me.

A quiet day in Liguria.

Two glasses.

Presence was heavier than absence.

Rain.

The sea speaks with a quiet fury today.

It wasn’t unforgettable.