Shadow

Little did I know
She’d stick around
Even after she was gone. 

Flashes of her face
In the darkness of my vision
After I resign to sleep, 

Auditory hallucinations
(Memories) 
Of a song

When the scenery
Sparks that feeling in me. 
You know the feeling. 

THE feeling. 
We’ve all had it. 
I know it

By the sensation
Of moving
When I am still, 

By the oddity of my hands,
When I look down questioning,
“Are they mine?”

By the ache
Of something crucial
Missing from my chest. 

It’s impossible to move on
When I’m back
In some other time, 

Or just skipping out
On a moment from my life
To act in her memories of me. 

Is she watching me, now? 
Maybe our reveries
Will merge

Out of some simultaneous
Conception of the past, 
And we’ll live there. 

Moving, 
Handless,
And together.

 

Murrells Inlet, SC

Amanda Marsico is the tea-sipping, cat-cuddling, chocolate-sneaking author of Humans In My House (middle-grade fiction), and Acephalous (YA drama); owner of Red Ink Enthusiast, a writing services company; and professor of English and Composition. When she’s not swimming in post-it notes, she’s crafting, baking, or enjoying the beach.