I am drawing a map
of your body
for the day I
only have your outline
in my eyelids.

I scribble your
obituary
over coffee:

some age
fondly remembered
survived by

so suddenly.

you smile,
cup hands around my
concentrated shoulders

no flowers
you say,
irish whiskey,
german beer.

I am rating your
aches and pains
on the Richter scale
while small tidal waves
form in my chest

I rearrange wedding photos
with shaking fingers

knowing what I’d do
without you
still leaves me flailing.

Nicole Marie is airport bartender by day, writer by night, and constant dreamer of her next piece of fiction. She is Contest Coordinator and Assistant Poetry Editor for Philadelphia Stories Magazine and lives in South Jersey with her wonderful husband, the biggest supporter of her twisted mind.