Into the Ether
As evening leans
against morning, she grows
tired of the wait, folds
up her heart again.
It isnt the first time
shes opened it, gingerly
peeled back the flaps
like a time-brittled envelope.
Inside is a listpromises,
withered; hours, crushed
into ether; unanswered
questions; desire, decayed.
He will not come tonight.
She closes her eyes, feigns
his touch. Skin remembers
what the heart must forget.
Ellen Hopkins
