I was reading
When you left.
The news came
Thirteen hours late.
So where were you
In that little space of time?
Were you breathing softly
In my consciousness?
Should I keep you alive
In morning walks and birdsong,
The smell of braised pork,
And my every achievement?
The ticking of the seconds.
Are you there?
, for English is cold,
And you taught me
Careful strokes in grids.
Fire, water, earth.
The language now
That cradles your essence,
Like wrinkled hands —
holding me.
And slowly,
I am losing signal.
A light switched off.
The curtains drawn.
I close the door behind me.
William Liu is studying law and arts, with a major in literary studies. He enjoys writing for leisure.