Washing Dishes and Thinking of You

It is the middle of the afternoon and you are just now leaving

just now I see your car disappear

just now I miss you

again

as before as always as so long.

My kitchen window is full of light

full of you walking away

a sun’s glare on the basil rooting on the ledge. You have left

your teacup empty a small spoon

to stir rose hips and leaves, another spoon for the peanut butter

you craved. I run my thumb over

the striations of your hunger,

each mark like driftwood—

almost stone (you)

almost drowned. (me)

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Amanda Auchter is the author of The Wishing Tomb, winner of the 2013 PEN Center USA Literary Award for Poetry and the 2012 Perugia Press Book Award, and The Glass Crib, winner of the 2010 Zone 3 Press First Book Award for Poetry. Her recent work appears in The Huffington Post and CNN. She lives in Houston, TX.