One Earring Short of Goodbye

One earring short of goodbye

the place still smells like her
but only in the corners,
like old smoke.

on the sink there’s
a half-used bottle of cheap perfume,
the kind that tries too hard
and almost makes it,
the kind she wore
to turn a bad day
into something with hips.

i pick it up and spray once
into the air
like i’m firing a warning shot.
it falls through the light
and lands on nothing.
even the dust doesn’t want it.

in the bathroom cabinet
an almost empty box of tampons
sits there like a calendar
with the last page torn off.
all those months
measuring blood and time,
all that silent math
i never learned to do.

i stare at it
like it’s a confession
i can’t read.
i can’t decide
if it’s cruel
or merciful
that she didn’t bother to take it.

on the tile by the drain
a broken earring,
one small piece of sparkle
with its back missing,
like a sentence that ends
halfway through the truth.

i keep finding her
in the stupid inventory
of what’s left behind--
the shampoo with her hair in it,
the mug with the chipped lip,
the loose bobby pin
that could hold the whole world together
if it needed to.

i drink coffee that tastes
like regret and tap water.
i drink beer that tastes
like more beer.
i listen to the refrigerator
click on and off
like a bored god.

the bed is too big
and also too small.
every night i roll toward
the empty side
like a dog looking for heat.

i tell myself
she’s happier.
i tell myself
i’m free.
i tell myself
anything
so i don’t have to say
the plain thing:

she left
and this place
learned her shape
and now it can’t unlearn it.

i try to be tough about it,
the way men are supposed to be
when the ship goes down.
but the truth is,
i lose fights
to objects.

a bottle.
a box.
a broken piece of metal
on cold tile.

that’s how it happens--
not with a movie speech
or a slammed door,
but with the quiet, stubborn leftovers
refusing to die.

and i’m standing there
in yesterday’s shirt,
staring at her fragments,
thinking:

if love is a god,
it’s the kind that moves out
while you’re at work
and leaves you
the bill
and the smell.