To The One Who Left

Genevieve DeGuzman

On the bed you planted a note

in the folds of our shared life

rooted in the crumpled twisted sheets

smells of rusty ice cream spoons

in the loam wrestling of our bodies

the night before. The dresser holds

an explosion of flowers in the act of molding

extravagant tears down my cheek.

Petals overcome with getting on

fall to the wood floors

no bounce, gleaming one by one

until there is only the pollen nucleus

left lidless eyes torn from my hands

rubbed to steady. When enough time has passed

I will put the dog in her pen, my locked up bitch

Laika in her space travels burning

up in the descent. The dog and I will know

the roughness of dried flowers

that deity propped up in a vase

more scarecrow to the ghost of you

gone.