Absence

Breathe in. Breathe out.
Peeling back layers until only the most natural functions remain,
No thoughts, no words, just body and spirit moving in rhythm,
This is how to deal with absence. With severing. With cleaving.
Grasp the back of a chair to stand taller,
White-knuckled, you grasp the walls of the well into which
you threw yourself, or someone threw you, and to not fall
you hold on to everything you pass until someone asks,
or doesn't ask, if you're even doing okay.
You answer that you're well, because,
let's face it, you have strength, you have bones
that connect and muscle that straighten your back
and eyes and a mouth with which to face the human world
and of course you have to look put together.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
This is how to deal with absence,
because there is no remedy - because the dark places
must be explored in order to find the light again,
and since breathing is something you have to do, anyway,
to survive, it's the only thing to do when your soul
aches for the presence of someone who leaves you.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
This is how to deal with absence.
There is no way to deal with absence,
except by staring it in the face
until you recognize that nothing is there,
until you can breathe again without aching.