A Season

Between Us​

​

When did I become

the scent of raw denim,

the taste of Japanese whisky,

freshly ground coffee,

school-run songs?

 

I longed for you as you sought solace

in the same chair.

Your loneliness still reached me

through drunken calls,

smoke swirling around you

as each tale repeats.

 

Summer warms the room

before each call,

 

but winter moves fast—

cracking bright glass,

cooling each tile,

and shivering through my day.

 

I always go to you—

flights, drives, and ferries—

a life stitched together

by divided duty.

​

Back home, there’s warmth—

my children, the sun.

I wish you could feel

our light.

 

Time helps—

guilt softens.

Warm air gathers.

My season settles.

 

I stand inside it

and breathe.