i am young, so i am frantic.
when a newborn wakes up to find her mother gone,
it is the worst thing that has happened to her.
it is her first experience with loss and fear,
that crushing loneliness tears itself out of her throat,
and pours out of her eyes.
the next time it hurts a little less.
i ask you if the perfume you left on my pillows was intentional,
and when the hole you tore apart to escape from my throat will mend.
every time i walk away,
you leave my skin a little less raw.
but when i look down at my hands,
i am hoping they are still red.