Two Faces













When you're gone

I let my dirty clothes slide down my hips

and fall to the floor,

and I leave 'em where they lie,

if I change them at all.


I leave doors half open

and drawers ajar,

dirty dishes in the sink

and old food in the fridge,

and I do not shop for groceries.


I stay up too late

reading books and other things

leading to naps the next day

and messed-up meal times.

I buy Thai take-out and eat too much.


When you're gone

I don't make the bed

or change the sheets weekly

or empty the trash.

I leave unused lights on.


When you're gone

I am my own uncivilized wild-child,

foraging through recollections

of my untamed self,

swapping faces when you walk

through the door.


C. Healy (2019)




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