I don't love you anymore.
I don't love the low timbre
of your voice as you say
Good morning
and place my coffee on the counter
fixed right, bringing me to life—
steaming hot in my indigo mug,
half milk with one sachet Splenda
and a peppermint drop.
I don't love the way you turn
to look when I walk through
the door and you smile with
your eyes, even though I’m not
smiling back yet.
I don't love when you tell a joke
and wait, inviting me to laugh
with you, at you,
anything to get me to grin
when the kids are being
kids and I forgot to pick up
wine at the store to help us
end the day on a softer
and more bearable note.
I don't love the woolen scratch
of your scarred and work-worn hands
tangled in my brown hair
as if you need to memorize
the weight and texture
for many years to come.
I don't love when my arms
are around your waist
and my eyes are shut and
my ear rests against the thrumming
note of your chest's drumbeat
that runs faster and deeper
when we stand together
like this.
I don't love how I am
a mug of bitter coffee now
and you are milk
and I suppose the kids could be
peppermint drops
all mixed together
returning me to life
when the sun forces me awake again.
I don't love you anymore
I don't love you
I don't
because I can't survive
loving someone who is gone.
Alison McBain
Alison McBain’s novels are the recipients of over 13 awards, including the Foreword INDIES and the Readers’ Choice Book Awards. Her shorter writing has been published in Grain Magazine, Canadian Literature, and Litro, among other magazines. She’s currently pursuing a project called “Author Versus AI,” where she’s writing a book a week over the course of a year, using NO AI at all (52 books total). When not writing, Ms. McBain is associate editor for the magazine ScribesMICRO and draws all over the walls of her house with the enthusiastic help of her kids. She lives in Alberta, Canada.
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