It is here, among the dust, discarded
books, some read, many not, plots
remembered, most forgotten.

It is here, behind the
wall, encased through time,
held by a mind visibly gone
astray with vision blank to
the present, not to his presence.

It is here, susurration into the
night, Russian accent,
speech thick, participles
dangle heavy in air,
suspended vibrations of laughter,
tears, love, arguments,
apologies, hellos, goodbyes.

It is here, among the rafters,
rattles her breastbone,
light, musical, harsh, scolding.

“Hear me still!” he demands.

“Here, be still,” she replies,
pats the warm space next to
herself, drifts asleep to his voice
as it whispers in her ear;
her voice urgent in response.

—

Ronda Miller, a Life Coach whose clients have lost someone to suicide or homocide, has poetry at The Smithsonian Art Institite, transformed as art, online, in ‘BEGIN AGAIN: 150 Kansas Poems’, ‘To The Stars Through Difficulties’, ‘Going Home: Poems from My Life’, and in documentary ‘The 150th Reride of The Pony Express’. She is a Kansas girl.