In the Morning

In the morning
is when I miss you most.
Waking up to the noises
of your busy home life,
you talking on the phone
to your friends,
or watching Asian dubbed
soap operas,
pirated VHS collections
from the local Vietnamese
rental stores,
you chopping or frying
the foods we didn’t know we loved
until you had gone.
At the time,
the noises were an annoyance
I’m ashamed to say,
from sleep,
from schoolwork.
But now, the absence is
felt,
your absence is felt,
there is no noise because
there is no life in this house.
there is no life in this house,
because there is no longer
you.


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