Poetry Index

Proof
I left some pictures on your doorstep-
of us, smiling in the doorway of our first apartment
only two or three-
hoping you'd glance down at them
in the light of the icy, gray morning
as you slip out the doorway,
Away from here.
On your quest for something bigger
than I could give you.
I can see you bending down,
pressed slacks wrinkling in the folds of your knees
as you reach down to shuffle them between your fingers.
The slate-gray tassels of your
woolen scarf would sweep across
our faces on the Kodak Gold prints.
I know you're leaving tomorrow,
and I will stay here.

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