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.