You are gone & a million

blackberries die on the vine.

You are gone & your nose

is still on your son’s face.

You are gone & the crows

peck at a tortilla chip on the asphalt.

You are gone & the peonies

bloom grotesquely in your yard.

You are gone & the left ones

come together to weave your shroud.

You are gone & honey drips

from our mouths but tastes bitter.

You are gone & we scatter

a trail of feathers behind.

You are gone &

You are gone &

Meredith Kirkwood lives and writes in the Lents neighborhood of Portland, Oregon. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Iron Horse Literary Review, Sky Island Journal, Rogue Agent, Variant Literature, ONE ART, and Doubleback Review, among others. Find her on the web at www.meredithkirkwood.net.