Just like a phantom limb,
you leave me here
my brain trying to send you signals
and feeling as though you could be there,
should be there–
without you there I have lost something of myself,
or so it seems.
Where is the bionic substitute,
the one that restores my mobility
the one that restores the signal to my brain?
There is too much I want to tell you
and I know for a fact that if you were here,
you wouldn’t have the capacity to hear it all anyway.
I romance over the details,
I imagine you looking back at my pretty mouth
and marveling at the wisdom that I learned to speak
asking me to tell you more.
Perhaps its just as well:
this is where you stay
tucked in my mind with the sparks of lost connection
short circuiting the whole system
so all I can do is lay in bed for a moment longer
and wonder why
you are still my phantom limb.
Artwork in photo by Sophie Kahn, Brooklyn
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