I've removed your texts
from my phone. Remember
the one about "textual healing"?
Ha. I've deleted the pictures:
us in the funny glasses, you
windblown on the ferry, me
at the end of a long run.
We are unfriends, unfavorites.
I threw away the travel mug,
the one that said "Let's Merry."
Gone, too, the flirty postcard
you sent from Lahaina, warming
my fridge since Christmas.
Delete, delete, delete, delete.
Everything's here: toothbrush,
slacks, the jacket you wore
to the symphony, the T-shirts
you took off, the espresso maker.
So much has been removed
I'm not sure who this note is for.
There must be some connection
I can't see I can't delete.