Creative Writing, Venue

Their Echoes

Everyday there’s someone new who doesn’t know. 

Everyday there’s someone new who needs to be told old news.

Everyday there’s someone new I have to tell, you died. 

And yet every day I decide the wear your ring. 

The fine but fragile golden thing around my finger. 

Makes a mighty manacle for something so small. 

Too tight even at the time, which hasn’t been kind. 

And heavier than a ring has any right to be. 

When Orpheus only had to look around to be rid of Eurydice.

They always ask where you are. 

After they say they hadn’t heard of you. 

Didn’t even know I had a husband. 

Or wife, they add reflexively. 

They wonder why you’d leave me alone at such a fancy function. 

But it’s worth it. 

So for a while all you are is away. 

Only over an ocean or two. 

And flying back fast. 

Then I can tell them what I can’t tell you. 

While they give me the gift of presuming present tense. 

And allow me to lie by omission. 

And as I talk about you to them. 

I feel you fast approaching. 

The pressure of you pressing down on our own safe soil. 

As you coaleas out of our old conversations. 

And you’re coming home. 

Only this time I’m hoping you don’t fall so bad over the threshold.

28/01/2020

About Author

Avouleance Aaq


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