Her

I’m not sure where she went

is the truth.

Perhaps she’s hiding in the closet

behind the spring dresses she bought

and thought she’d return.

Maybe she’s out back

in the shed,

rearranging the shelves

or sweeping out the cobwebs.

Or she could be in the kitchen frying an egg

or sautéing something, like green beans.

All I know is that she’s not here with me,

and I miss her.

I hope wherever she went

she knows she lit up rooms.

That her laugh was fresh like hope.

That yellow is a color that suited her.

We don’t tell people enough

how much we love them

until it’s too late.

Especially when that person

is us.