Creative Writing


Lingering

jess ingrassellino, September 2020

I don’t think of you,
even when I smell coffee
brewing before I’m awake,

or when I see the chiffon red
dress hanging in the closet – the one I wore
when we lay, laughing, on the grass.

Or when I order tacos from
Taco King at 9:30 on a
random Tuesday night.

Every day, I see the doorway
where you stood when I told you
“I need to leave you”.

But I don’t see your
face, looking lost, crushed, hopeless;
I don’t think about how you

forced back the tears as you
asked again to make sure that
this is what I really wanted.

For a moment, when I stumble on the
wedding ring you left in the velvet box,
with the note you wrote

when you proposed, I stop. Turn the box
over and over in my hands, then
take it to my bedroom and lock it away.