Static

Well, Old Flame, the fire’s out.
I miss you most at the laundromat.

Folding sheets is awkward work
Without your help. My nip and tuck
Can’t quite replace your hands,
And I miss that odd square dance
We did. Still, I’m glad to do without
Those gaudy arguments that wore us out.

I’ve gone over them often
They’ve turned grey. You fade and soften
Like the hackles of my favorite winter shirt.
You’ve been a hard habit to break, Old Heart.

When I feel for you beside me in the dark,
The blankets crackle with bright blue sparks.

Barton Sutter