The Nest

Since you left,
this apartment got smaller.
Like you packed away
the space you existed in,
and carried it off with you.
A whole world by your side,
in a purse.
What you left

are echoes of questions
drifting in a fog,
hoping you’ll return to rescue them.

Just like me.
I don’t feel like a mother bird,
after her baby has flown.
I feel like the nest.
Abandoned, up on a branch,
watching birds flying by,
knowing that none of them are coming here.
None of them are mine, any more.

 

Dazzler

Dazzler is a British-American poet living in Arizona and Washington State. Having survived corporate and Academic lives, he now spends his days dedicated to poetry, family, and black labs.

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