The Girl From Hazard, Ky • Charlene Taylor

I reluctantly walk in your room
to repair the damage
but I’m left
to pick up the pieces
of trash and scattered ashes
loose threads etched in the floor.
A kaleidoscope of abandoned fragments.

I think of the paint on your jeans and
markers without caps
how you’d stomp around the room
like a kid / I knew you were happy
on one toe to pirouette down the hall
your arms up to hug the ghost that led you
heel toe spin – heel toe spin again
and again until you spill your high,
stumbling with a smile.
A kaleidoscope of abandon fragments.


A clean void paints a silhouette where your dresser was
and I can taste the antique grime that caked its mirror.
The moment I saw the boxes
I became the candle wax on the tv,
the cat piss snuggled on your pillow.
I became the mold in the coffee pot,
the starved ball python that stunk
for a week – until you noticed.
Trash and scattered ashes.

When your smirk mimicked my pain
I became the flame reflected in your cold eyes,
the memory of the heat they once held –
Extinguished by the smoke you blew in my face.
The weight of your memory
latches on to my heavy heart –
The harder I fight
the deeper I sink
into the sand carpet.

Loose threads etched in the floor.
A clean void paints a silhouette where your dresser was
and I can taste the antique grime that caked its mirror.
Even vanity refused your reflection.