Missing you

Each morning
when I make the bed
I see the indentation
in the pillow
made by your head;
I fluff my pillow
but I don’t touch yours.

Day ten of your absence
and I haven’t the heart
to erase the place
where your head has lain.
Since you left
our two pillows
have gotten quite close,
but it’s just me
edging nearer
to where you were.

When you’re next to me
I have no set way of going to sleep:
it could be on my right side,
my left, or on my back.
But each night you’re gone
I sleep on my right side,
always the right side,
to help ease my way
into the space
where your ghost
is sleeping.

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