Building 45

Literary/Arts Journal

Missing You

by Ariele Schaecher

Rainy afternoon:
    my glasses speckled with raindrops reflecting recollections
        —desks, crumpled notes, a fire
        hanging from my neck—

a pale sky,
    colored with your absence.

I have a pictured taped
    to the mirror near my bed
its corners bent and faded,
its laughter singing out;
        for three years
    it has gazed at me
    as I gazed in,

Yes, I love you most in this changing
        of times;
love you also when the clock ticks
        on and on
with no regard for me, no compassion.
I love you when the radio's song
    wraps its arms around me
    the print of your shirt,
        your glow, your song.

In your absence
I've built a photo wall
    which reflects like the old mirror
        in my mind's eye.
I feed it thoughts
I feed it memories, one by one,
        so that when you return
        you'll remember
    I'm still yours and you can be mine