by Angela Miller

It’s inside the spaces– the pauses– the infinite stillness–

that I most palpably feel the emptiness you’ve left behind.

It’s the silence of your missing voice that screams the loudest.

It’s every holiday that’s impossible to truly celebrate.

It’s the painfully absent goodnight routine.

It’s the missing you in every picture of our forever-one-too-small family.

It’s the one less set of hands tugging on my shirt.

It’s the one missing set of lips not kissing mine.

It’s the one stolen set of feet I should be chasing after.

It’s all the screaming empty spaces of you– you– you–

all around me.