I’ve Left You

by Jed Myers

I’ve left you the house, the bed
all to yourself, the closet
spacious with the breath of absence—
all my hanging pants, moth-eaten
sweater vests and socks, the rest,
down the stairs in boxes, carted
off in the van. I’ve left you

the garden, weeds and irises.
And our daughter’s dance
across the kitchen, morning’s
incandescence on her cheeks—I miss
this most. So much slips
under the cascade-white surface
of attachment’s tumbling

history—I’ve walked away
and left you in that blur of bright
fast lines. Time will tell us
less and less. The loneliness
that had grown dense, exquisite in
our closeness, now blows loose
and surges down the cold streets,

whistles in the alcoves, hisses
like a horde of ghosts cavorting
in the branches. I’ve left you
all the space you need inside
the household’s quiet, and entered
the emptiness that is the world
of real possibilities—

they explode, like all the raindrops
on the road, translucent
blooms bursting inside out
with the most undignified
delight. What comes next?
the clouded night sky seems to ask—
headlights, taillights, sweeping past.

Jed Myers is a Philadelphian living in Seattle. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Prairie Schooner, Nimrod International Journal,Golden Handcuffs Review, Atlanta Review, Jabberwock Review, Grey Sparrow, Crab Creek Review, and elsewhere. He’s received several recent awards, among them the 2012 Mary C. Mohr Editors’ Award from Southern Indiana Review. Jed is a psychiatrist with a therapy practice, and he teaches at the University of Washington.