Thrown Away Days

Paper wrapper crinkles I move my supper out of frame. Can you see me now? Your phone leans up against the bread bin. I keep the rented room off screen. You ask me how the new job's going. I say, They're being good to me. I show the buildings from my window. You say the garden's getting tall. We give each other all the headlines. Then neither of us talks at all. You say, There's nothing new today. I wish you'd tell me anyway. I miss the days we threw away. Nothing happened. You were there. Your feet on mine, a film still playing, your fingers resting in my hair. We never thought to take a picture. We thought we'd have it every day. Nothing happened. You were there. I miss the days we threw away. You say you'd better wash the dishes. I reach to let the evening end. Your phone slips sideways by your elbow. You prop it on the shelf again. I hear you tug the kitchen drawer. It catches like it always did. You laugh, You haven't missed a thing. I pull my knees beneath my chin. I miss the days we threw away. Nothing happened. You were there. The drawer that needs your hip to close it, your damp sleeves and untidy hair. You say I haven't missed a thing. Those are the things I miss all day. Nothing happened. You were there. I miss the days we threw away. Steady drums beneath low melody Don't go. Just leave me by the dishes. You don't have to talk to me. I prop you by my pile of washing. You leave me where your hands can reach. There's nothing left we need to say. I fold a shirt. You rinse a plate. I miss the days we threw away. Nothing happened. You were there. Your hands are rinsing out a saucepan. My clean clothes cover half the chair. We haven't solved the miles between us. I still can't touch you through the glass. But nothing's happening. You're here. We haven't thrown this one away. Leave me here beside the dishes. I'll stay until you dry your hands. Gentle washing-up water