by ZOE EVANS - February 27, 2020
Creased and torn pictures that clung to the walls
are now in a shoebox under the bed.
Your wild grin and crinkles ‘round the eyes,
which have parted ways with you,
are now tears staining the sheets of lonely nights.
The faces will fade like the withering flower petals
lost at sea in the current of the Styx.
Like the leaves fall to grow again, more alive than before,
your story does the same.
Good-byes are never permanent–
they follow you like a lost child.
