here is my chest here is where I remember longing has not visited me in a long time longing who I let inside me longing who I let cut my hair with old scissors longing who feels my feet swell and kisses them longing who knows I have nowhere to be no new dreams I have my hands who flutter loosely by my sides these are my hands that is your face I am holding your face in every dream I only have one photo left of you I keep it near the lilies in their vase who tucks me into our home at night? not our children who hover nearby they have your hair the shape of your neck the way you walk you have walked so far in my dreams I am always trying to catch up I am not angry I never was but I am always yearning to touch you I remember the day with snow the laughing magpie the laughing river your wet white limbs illuminated by the sun I thought at last this is the heavy sleep but it was not it was not sleep it was winter in our home a burst of light beckoned forward the dawn the dawn slipped over the horizon the horizon held still and there you were beneath all that light look I have emptied buckets of myself into the fields outside I have fed forests to our children and watched them grow learn to walk then run the sun on the ground is not cruel it lifts whatever is left wet on the ground towards the sky there is the sun there is the sky what lifts you away from me is not the ache in my chest what settles to make room for you even after you are gone is your memory which curls sweetly inside me and I breathe around its weight I wait for you in the morning I wait for you in the sun in the snow by the river in the fields behind the mountains with the lilies who grow and carry the horizon so here is longing here is my chest here is my heart who knows how to listen who can hear your voice promising I’m here I’m here I’m waiting for you
Sanna Wani is a person and poet around Tkaronto. Her work is available in canthius, The Puritan, Peach Mag, and TIME. She loves daisies.
@sannareya on Twitter.
image: Jonathan Knepper
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