by Chrys Tobey
which used to be our house, the key I’ve offered to return, but
you insisted, Keep it in case you want to visit the cats, and since
I still have it a year later, since I’m driving late and your exit isn’t far,
I imagine I keep going until I pull into your driveway, which was once
our driveway, and drag my bags of books to the light of the bungalow,
cats waiting in the window, open the door to speakers playing
some new indie band and our yellow blanket on the couch for later
when we’ll curl up and watch television, when I’ll slide around
in my slippery socks and make you laugh, but first, we have to eat at our
little table; first, we must toast something because we always
toast something; we must wash the dishes, and of course, as I daydream
about someone else, I touch your cheek, since I always
touch your cheek, and you whisper, But Love, I’ve replaced you.
Chrys Tobey’s first poetry book, A Woman is a Woman is a Woman is a Woman, was published by Steel Toe Books in January 2017. Her poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, featured in Verse Daily, and published in numerous literary journals, including Ploughshares, The Cincinnati Review, New Ohio Review, Rattle, Smartish Pace and the minnesota review. Chrys lives and teaches in Portland, Oregon.